


Home, Sweet Home

by MrProphet



Series: Home [3]
Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-24
Updated: 2017-04-24
Packaged: 2018-10-23 11:19:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 33,699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10718331
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrProphet/pseuds/MrProphet
Summary: The M37-A is an entirely made-up weapon, loosely based on the M41A pulse rifle from the film Aliens. In this fic, the weapons were originally Heckler & Koch G-11 caseless rifles, which are real, but as it turns out, don't work the way I thought they do.





	Home, Sweet Home

Captain Amy Kawalsky, USAF, sat waiting in a small, walnut panelled office in New York. She was wearing her dress uniform, and had been sitting stiffly for at least half an hour now. Every few minutes she would surreptitiously wipe the palms of her hands on the sides of her chair. Opposite her was a large, antique desk, with a computer and a telephone and a stack of paperwork, but there was no one else in the room. Beside the desk was a door, that led into the inner office of Special adviser to the United Nations Security Council, General Robert Keyes. Inevitably, it was at the precise moment that Amy chose to wipe her hands again that the door opened.

Amy sprang to her feet, but it was not General Keyes who emerged, but his private secretary; Sergeant Charlotte Ashenden. Despite her Anglo-Norman name, Sergeant Ashenden was of obvious Arabic stock. She was also a very attractive woman - as were so many of the staff General Keyes chose to surround himself with - a little younger than Amy herself, she looked almost too delicate to be any kind of soldier. At the sight of her, Amy fought back a scowl. To say that she hated the woman would be to deny herself the use of such words as 'loathed' and 'despised', but the General would hear no word against her.

"You can go in now, Captain Kawalsky," Ashenden told Amy, pleasantly. Amy had never been certain whether the woman was ignorant of the intense ill-will that she bore for her, or merely far more thick-skinned than she appeared.

"Thank you, Sergeant," she replied, managing to be cordial, if not to mirror Ashenden's amicable air. Amy stepped past the younger woman, and into General Keyes' inner office. She approached, and stood smartly to attention in front of the General's desk.

"At ease, Captain," Keyes told her. He had a warm, rich voice and a lazy Southern drawl, which belied his reputation as a brilliant and quick-witted battlefield commander. "Take a seat."

"Thank you, Sir." Amy settled herself on one of the three chairs which sat in front of his desk. She kept her back straight, not allowing herself to relax too much. She had been in this office many times, and the chair she sat in was 'her chair' - at least in as much as the one to her right was Ashenden's - but this was different. It was time for her performance review.

"How long have you been with my team?" Keyes' asked, clear blue eyes boring into her from a handsome, weathered face.

"Six months, sir," Amy replied. He knew that of course, but it was not good policy to leave a General's question unanswered; however rhetorical. "And two weeks, three days."

"Six months, two weeks and three days," Keyes' repeated. "And that's since…what? A month and a half after you left the SGC?"

"A little under that. Yes, sir."

"You pushed mighty hard to get into the SGC," Keyes told her. "Why'd you quit after only…" He referred to his notes, although Amy was certain it was only for effect; he already knew the information he was looking for. "Two assignments?"

Amy frowned. "It wasn't what I'd thought…May I speak freely, sir?"

"Please do, Captain," Keyes answered.

"My brother, Charles, told me not long before he died, that he was working where important things were happening. I wanted to be a part of that, but I was not so impressed by what I saw there. The SGC has a weak approach to their assigned duty, sir. They aren't willing to do whatever it takes to get the job done, and in those two assignments I saw enough examples of poor command decisions and compromises to know that I could never really work with those people."

"Yet, you had something of a history with three of the members of the Command, did you not?"

"Not quite, sir. I knew Colonel O'Neill from way back; he and Charlie were friends for a long time. He let my brother die, his best friend, but he couldn't bring himself to kill an alien enemy, sir. That's exactly what I mean by compromise."

"What about Major Ferretti and Dr Jackson?"

Amy gave a pained expression. "Major Ferretti, I met once, at Charlie's funeral, and I served under him in SG-2 on my first assignment. Dr Jackson I knew through his work before I met him, and I got to know him better after the funeral. He helped me out with my college work sometimes; I was studying anthropology, and a lot of the same areas he covered as an archaeologist." She blushed slightly. "I had kind of a crush on him," she admitted. "And I still like him, but he's not a soldier, and has no place on a military team."

Keyes nodded, apparently satisfied. "And after you left the SGC?"

"I drifted, sir," Amy confessed. "I'd wanted to follow Charlie's footsteps for so long…I felt lost. I was made a prisoner during my second SGC mission, I saw one of my team-mates tortured, and I was nearly killed, so I took a month's compassionate leave to get my head together.

"It was towards the end of that period that Colonel Garsed approached me, and offered me a place on your security detail."

"And why did you accept that place?"

"It was easy," Amy admitted. "I didn't know where to go, but if someone wanted me, then that gave me a direction. Also I was intrigued. It's not usual to be headhunted like that for an Air Force posting.

"I spent about a month on your detail before Captain Heller's accident," she continued. "And after that you asked me to replace her as your aide." Elizabeth Heller had been skiing in Switzerland during a one week vacation when she broke both of her arms. She had been forced to resign her post with General Keyes and accept an invalid discharge from the USAF. It was bad luck for her, but immense good fortune for Lieutenant Kawalsky.

"Three months later," Amy continued. "There was the assassination attempt in Bogotá."

"Where you saved my life," Keyes added. "As well as the lives of the US Ambassador, and the Colombian Minister of the Interior. I've noticed that you're often reluctant to discuss your successes, Captain, but they do not go unnoticed."

"No, sir," Amy agreed. "I was promoted to Captain after Bogotá, and I took temporary command of your security detail; with Colonel Garsed's death, and Major Ludwig's…injury." She paused, distractedly, as she remembered Ted Garsed and Max Ludwig; two more people whose misfortune had been to her gain.

Colonel Garsed and three others had been killed in the Bogotá ambush - planned and perpetrated by parties unknown, to strike UN and international government representatives who were attending a summit to discuss international drugs enforcement policy - while Amy had hurried the diplomats to safety. Max Ludwig survived, but had completely lost the use of his legs. It had been her duty, she knew that; but it sat badly with her to have left others to die in her place.

"I know that was only ten weeks ago," Keyes told her. "But I've been very impressed with your performance."

"Thank you, sir."

"To be completely frank, I want to make the appointment permanent."

"Sir?" Amy was taken aback. She was still only twenty-six; young for her rank, and certainly young for such a prominent command. Heading up the protection detail for a UN diplomat of General Keyes' standing was a job for a soldier with at least ten years' experience on her.

"I know you're young, and only a Captain, but I think you've got what it takes Amy," Keyes told her. He stood, and she did the same. "Please, sit," he told her, moving around the desk to perch on the edge of it alongside her, his manner informal. He was straight-backed and moved well for a man of some sixty years of age.

"I'm flattered, sir," she assured him. "But really…I'm too young for an assignment this big. Even if you recommended me, surely it would never be approved."

"But it has been approved," he assured her. "Off the record, I think you also deserve another promotion. You have all the qualities I'd look for in an Air Force Major, but you are too young, and it's too soon since your promotion to Captain."

Amy was speechless, uncertain what to make of the General's words and tone. While she was flattered, she also knew that she lacked more than the experience required to make the promotion to Major. She had been in charge of General Keyes' escort for two months, and she knew that her command abilities fell short of the level a Major would be expected to show. Even her captaincy felt uneasy at times, and deep down she feared that it was only Keyes' influence - and the fact that it seemed politically desirable for the Air Force to grant some visible reward to the photogenic heroine of a highly publicised incident - that had gained her the promotion.

"The most important thing to me, Amy," Keyes continued, leaning forward. "Is to be surrounded by people I can rely on; and you've shown that I can rely on you. That's more important to me than experience; to know I can trust you."

"Thank you, sir," Amy said again, feeling somewhat uncomfortable with the General's proximity.

"Do you know why that's important to me, Amy," Keyes said, softly, laying a hand on her shoulder.

"No, sir," Amy replied, wondering if this constituted sexual harassment. It might have seemed odd to accuse a man of Keyes' age of such a thing, but the General plainly had plenty of energy left in him, and Amy knew that there were already a number of rumours about exactly how she had secured her promotion, and many more about his relationship with Ashenden.

"We are surrounded by enemies," Keyes told her, sitting back a little, letting Amy breathe a little easier. "I've given forty-five years of my life to protecting this country, and it's all coming down to nothing."

"Sir…" Amy began, but Keyes held up a hand to silence her.

"I've fought on a lot of battlefields, Captain," he said. "Men do strange things in battle; crazy things. Things that civilised people do not do, and do you know why?"

"No, sir," Amy replied.

"Because they have to. Because somebody has to do those things so that civilised people can keep on living their happy lives and not doing them." The General rose and walked to the window, looking out over New York City. "But there are too many people in the world who don't realise that," he told Amy. "Who think that civilised people should never do those things. They punish the soldiers who protect their right to live free, and treat them with disdain when they try to tell them how things are.

"You know I was in line for the post of National Security adviser before I got this…job," he said, managing to make job sound like the worst form of profanity. "That's what this is; a job, like a bank manager. A place for a civilian, not a soldier. They said I was too old for a field posting, and too old-fashioned for a cabinet assignment, and I accepted it," he admitted. "Didn't occur to me to question the President of the United States. How would it?" General Keyes returned to his chair, and took a heavy Havana cigar from a box on his desk. He offered one to Amy, which she declined, then lit his from his lighter; a rather enthusiastic device in the shape of a dragon, which Amy knew to be a memento of his service in Korea.

"Then I got passed over for another assignment," Keyes continued. "That one went to General West instead."

"The SGC," Amy realised. "I never knew…"

"Not many people do," Keyes replied. "West was a good man, but he was too old for the job; too cautious, not adventurous enough. Oh, I know he's younger than I am in years, but he's old in spirit. Didn't have the nerve to do what had to be done." He puffed meditatively on his cigar for a moment, before going on.

"I've followed the Stargate programme from its reactivation in the early nineties," he said. "And I've watched the United States pandering to the United Nations from my place in this office, and I have come to a simple conclusion: America is doomed. But I intend to do something about that." He stood up again, and walked around behind Amy, laying a hand on each shoulder.

"Now I trust you, Amy; so I'm going let you in on a few secrets."

"Sir…" Amy began.

"Just listen, Captain," Keyes ordered. "Then you can ask your questions." He squeezed her shoulders for a moment before letting go. "I and others," he told her, pacing before her. "Have discovered that an insidious plot exists to undermine the sovereignty of our great nation. Our elected leaders have opted to continue the pursuit of stifling alliances with forces that I can only describe as communist."

"Sir; I hardly think that the United Nations…"

"I am talking, Captain, about the Asgard and the Tok'ra; and I'll thank you not to interrupt me again."

"I…No, sir," Amy replied, taken aback by the General's statements.

"As I told you, I have been following the Stargate programme closely, and I agree with your assessment that their approach is weak. Worse however, is the fact that they have placed us in alliance us with weak, communist, alien forces, instead of pursuing relations with the dominant power in the Galaxy; the Goa'uld."

"The Goa'uld!" Amy exclaimed, appalled. She blanched under the General's scowl. "Sorry, Sir."

Keyes relented. "I understand that your own experiences with the Goa'uld have been less than encouraging, but you must understand that all of our encounters with that race have been tainted by a bad start. Colonel O'Neill was a fine soldier once, but he was the wrong man to send at the head of the reconnaissance mission to Abydos, and as you pointed out, Dr Daniel Jackson does not belong on any military assignment. O'Neill's blundering and Jackson's liberalism combined to make us the enemies of the Goa'uld when they assassinated Ra."

"Who was planning to destroy Earth," Amy pointed out.

"With a bomb sent through the Stargate on West's orders to destroy him; another of the General's errors of judgement. That was the bad start, and it has only been compounded by the pinko liberal, intellectual elitism of George Hammond and his crew. Their attitude to the SGC mission has diluted its effectiveness, and blinded the Government to the essential similarity of goals which exists between us and the Goa'uld.

"Strong, central government," he explained, in response to Amy's look. "Unity under God."

"Under themselves," Amy replied. "They claim to be gods."

"Not so," Keyes replied. "They represent their gods to the people who are too simple to understand better; an approach that this country would do well to take with some of our less gifted citizens. I'll be blunt, Captain; I don't hold with words like 'accountability' and 'limitation'. For a country to be strong, its leaders must be strong. How can the President be taken seriously if Congress can overrule his decisions?"

"But the Goa'uld are tyrants," Amy protested.

"The people need tyrants," Keyes responded. "The Goa'uld understand that, as did the founding fathers. The electoral college was not formed to represent the people, but to decide what was best for them. The people don't know what they want, or what they need, unless someone is there to tell them. Look at the last election, for Pete's sake."

"They've attacked Earth."

"And failed," the General reminded her. "And the time is ripe for a small cadre of strong individuals to lead Earth into the alliance of System Lords as a real and tangible power."

Amy gasped in amazement at what he was suggesting. "You can't be serious," she breathed, awed by the scope of Keyes' vision.

"Completely," he assured her. "And I want you to be a part of making it happen." Quickly, he turned and crouched in front of her, his hands on her upper arms. It was a very intimate position, and for a moment, Amy was spun by the closeness and by Keyes' obvious excitement in his plan.

"What would I do?" She asked.

"Much as you do now," he replied. "I need soldiers, and I need commanders both able to obey orders, and young enough to think for themselves." Amy blushed at the compliment. "It will not be smooth sailing. I have to seize power: to do that I need military leaders, and I want you," he assured her, the double meaning barely hidden.

Amy blushed deeper. "General, I…I don't know what to say."

"The I'll make it easy," Keyes said, standing up. "Join me, and be part of creating a strong, American Earth. Isn't that an easy choice?"

Amy looked uncertain for a moment, but then looked up at him. "Yes," she said, and then more definitely. "Yes. I'll do it."

"Your former ties to the SGC won't be a problem for you?"

"Not at all," she assured him.

"Excellent," he replied, placing a hand on her shoulder. "You'll not regret this, Amy."

Keyes sat back behind his desk, and steepled his fingers. "The way it falls out is this," he began. "The System Lords have realised that America will not be overwhelmed, and they wish to add our strength to their Union. I was contacted with this information, because the System Lords value strength, and because of my ties to the Stargate programme. It falls to me therefore to lead the Earth boldly into this time of opportunity. It is a great honour, and a greater responsibility."

As he spoke, Keyes seemed almost to swell with power, and Amy understood exactly why the Goa'uld might approach him. She knew that he still commanded great respect in the Air Force, for all that he held no command anymore, and having been granted the honour of serving as his assistant and protector, she could plainly see why.

A knock at the office door broke Amy's reverie, and the General called for Sergeant Ashenden to enter. The woman walked past Amy and bent over at the General's side, showing him a report. She whispered something in his ear, and a small smile curled the edge of Keyes' mouth.

Are they really involved? Amy wondered, not comfortable with the fact that it bothered her to think it.

"I'm troubled, Captain," the General said, his face serious.

"Sir?"

"Sergeant Ashenden tells me that you have replaced five members of the security detail. Is this true?"

"Not quite, sir," Amy replied, fighting the urge to scowl at Ashenden. "I dismissed five, but have only had time to appoint four replacements."

"This is very bad timing," Keyes told her, while Ashenden smiled her pleasant smile.

"They were arrested by the MPs for public drunkenness and assault, and a journalist picked up the story. I didn't think that it would be good for your image to be associated with that kind of behaviour, sir."

Keyes eyed her for a long moment. "Quite right, Major," he assured her. Ashenden looked almost disappointed; so there was a viper behind that friendly smile." But there's a very important conference coming up this weekend. Are you sure we can rely on these new people?"

"I checked each of them out myself," she assured him, defensively. "That's why I haven't had time to locate a fifth."

Keyes nodded. "Very well then. I think that's probably all for you today," he added, glancing sideways at Ashenden. "Dismissed, Major."

"Sir." Amy stood and saluted. Ashenden opened the door for her, and then shut it at her back.

*

"I swear, JF; she was trying to get me into trouble," Amy explained. She took a long pull on her beer bottle.

"She's a conniving little bitch, right enough," Lieutenant Sandra "JF" Kennedy agreed. "But she's sleeping with the boss, so what are you gonna do?" Kennedy was General Keyes' UN diplomatic aide, and the third of 'Keyes' Angels', as she, Amy and Ashenden were known colloquially. Unlike Ashenden, Amy liked Kennedy, and the two of them often met up in Roary's bar for a drink and a prowl after work.

"Ooh; what about that one?" Kennedy asked, pointing surreptitiously at a tall, gym-muscled man in an expensive suit.

Amy grunted, non-committaly.

"You're not at work now, Ames," Kennedy reminded her. "Get your mind on the task in hand."

"Not in the mood, JF," Amy replied. "I've got a lot to think about."

"Look; don't worry about Sergeant Überbitch," Kennedy told her. "However much she rings General Keyes' bell, he knows what you're worth; she'll never get him to boot you out."

"It's not that," Amy assured her. "It's just…" She paused, uncertain. "How far does he confide in you?"

"Completely," Kennedy replied. She gave her friend a long look. "So he's brought you into the club?" Amy nodded.

"Does it bother you?" Kennedy asked. "His vision?"

"Well, yeah!" Amy replied. "I mean, a little," she added, warily. "I trust him though."

Kennedy nodded, sagely. "I know it seems a little skewed, but trust me, Ames; this is not some half-baked idea. The General knows campaigning like no-one else; he'd never start something if he didn't think he could finish it."

"I know. It's just so weird. I mean, I've seen those things, JF." She shook her head, wearily, and sighed. "They didn't look like Republicans to me."

"Just keep trusting General Keyes," Kennedy advised. "He's a smart guy. He'll steer you right."

Amy sighed again. "I know," she said. "I just need to sleep on it, I think. I'll see tomorrow?"

Kennedy shook her head. "I've got to make arrangements for the big conference," she said. "I'll be out of town until then, but I guess I'll see you along on Saturday?"

"I guess so," Amy replied.

"What've you got until then?"

"Re-vetting my new people; I want to be sure they're up to scratch."

*

Saturday morning dawned bright and clear, and saw Amy and her team already en route, with the General's motorcade, to a USAF base not far from New York City.

On arrival, the General's diplomatic aide came out to meet him, along with a lean, hungry-looking man, who always reminded Amy of a half-starved wolf. "Lieutenant Kennedy, Lieutenant Carlson," the General greeted them.

"General Keyes," both soldiers responded with a smart salute.

Eight of the guard detail were dressed in their Air Force uniforms, to accompany the General on his transport. The remainder, in regular fatigues, would go with Carlson and Kennedy to secure the General's final destination. Apart from the General, Amy alone was wearing dress uniform.

Her first order of business was to give her new soldiers the once over. They were waiting in the shadow of a hangar; two to go with Amy, two with Carlson.

"Welcome aboard," she said, saluting them. They returned the gesture, one a little slow. "Sharpen up your act, Private," Amy told the tall, attractive woman. "It's my ass on the line if you're not as good as your records say."

"Sorry, ma'am," the woman, Private Petrie, responded. "I'll try and do better."

Amy rolled her eyes, glad that Petrie would be going with Carlson. The last thing she needed was for the woman to make her look bad in front of General Keyes.

"'Ten hut!" The towering, fair-haired Lieutenant snapped, the line jumping to attention.

"At ease," General Keyes called from behind Amy. "So, Captain; this is the new blood?"

"Yes, sir," she replied. "This is Lieutenant Jim Starsky." The General exchanged salutes with the young man. "Sergeant Matt Curie," Amy continued, indicating a wiry, dark-haired young man. "Private Clifford Simpson." Clifford was a dour, heavily-built man with buzz-cut brown hair. "And Private Louise Petrie."

General Keyes stopped in front of Petrie, subjecting the young soldier to a long, intense scrutiny. "Alright, Captain," he said at last. "Let's get this show on the road." He gestured Amy over to him, and she followed a short way. He spoke to her quietly before walking off, and when she came back to the four soldiers, she was scowling slightly.

"Okay," she said. "Curie and Simpson, you're with Lieutenant Carlson. Starsky and Petrie, with me."

"Um…excuse me," Petrie began.

"I just gave you an order, Private; not a request. I know you're in fatigues, but the General wants you in his detail. Guess somebody up there likes you," she added, nastily. Petrie blanched.

"You heard the Captain, Petrie!" Starsky snapped. "Make a move."

"Always a pleasure, Captain." Carlson flipped Amy an indolent salute as he turned to lead his contingent away. He had been Ted Garsed's protégé, and it was an open secret that he despised her for securing the promotion after Garsed's death. If he could, he would be sure to use Curie and Simpson's behaviour to attack her; maybe Ashenden would check the spelling on the report for him.

*Jerk,* Kennedy mouthed as she followed Carlson.

Starsky and Petrie followed Amy back to the ranks, where Petrie's fatigues made her stand out from the crowd. There were a few snickers from the more experienced members of the detail, who had a shrewd idea what she was doing there.

"Okay; can the laughing," Amy told them. She did not raise her voice; she found that she rarely had to anymore. "You've all got your numbers. First shift will take up post in the hatch and the lounge as soon as we get on board the plane. Second shift take over in four hours, Petrie you're with Starsky," she added, before the question could be asked. "Step to it, people."

Two of the soldiers went ahead, while the rest of the detail filed behind Amy and the General towards the plane standing in the centre of the field. A forklift was loading a large crate into the rear hatch of the aircraft.

"A 747?" Amy was not entirely surprised that the dismayed voice belonged to Petrie.

"Well," Keyes remarked. "Whatever else you vetted that woman for, it wasn't for discipline."

Amy winced. "I'm sorry, sir. I'll deal with it straight away."

"See that you do. There's very little worse than a soldier who doesn't know better than to speak out of turn."

"Yes, sir," Amy agreed. Ahead of them, Ashenden waited at the top of the steps. This promised to be a very long flight.

*

Lieutenant Carlson's group filed aboard an Air Force Hercules transport. JF brought up the rear, behind the two new additions.

"Pick up the pace!" Carlson snapped back at them. While he had no real authority over Kennedy, he was in charge of this part of the detail, and he was going to take his frustration at Amy out on her friend and her recruits if he could possibly manage it.

There was no need to rush of course, and the Hercules sat quiescent until the General's 747 had taken off and the sound of its engines had died away. It was hot in the back of the aircraft, but the ranks of airmen sat uncomplaining. Only once the Herc had taxied out onto the field, rumbled ominously down the runway and lifted into the sky was there much conversation between the soldiers, mostly concerning where they were going.

"So, where did you transfer in from?" Kennedy asked Curie, who was sitting opposite her.

"56th Tactical, Lieutenant," the young man replied, sounding rather tense. "I had to transfer to infantry after my eyesight started going."

"Bad?" Kennedy asked.

"Not so as I need glasses; but you know regulations."

JF nodded, then turned to the broad-shouldered man sitting next to her. "How about you?"

"I have but recently transferred service from the United States Marine Corps, Lieutenant Kennedy," Simpson replied, sombrely, his tone and cadences oddly measured. He was a strange one, but kind of cute.

JF turned, to better face the big man, incidentally cutting Curie off somewhat. "Oh yeah. Why was that then?"

"I like aircraft," Simpson replied, straight faced.

"So have you served with Captain Kawalsky before?"

Simpson looked sidelong at Kennedy, but faced forward again as he answered: "I have not. As I said, I have but recently transferred to Air Force service."

Kennedy flirted with Simpson for most of the two hour flight, drawing occasional scowls of jealous disapproval from Carlson. That censure was all the reaction she got however. It seemed to JF pretty much like hitting on a brick wall, but after landing, as the soldiers were gathering their kit to leave, Curie leaned over and whispered:

"He likes you."

From the Hercules, they transferred to a pair of transport trucks, which carried them away from the isolated airstrip along a bumpy dirt road. JF managed to get on board the same truck as Curie and Simpson, leaving Carlson to the other. This time she talked to both, drawing out a few anecdotes about Curie's experiences in the Gulf War, and a very vague account of an operation Simpson had taken part in, somewhere in Eastern Europe.

When Kennedy commented on the lack of detail, Simpson turned to her and said: "I could tell you more, Lieutenant Kennedy; but then I would be obliged to kill you."

Special forces then, Kennedy figured. That explained his grimness.

"How about you, Lieutenant?" Curie asked. "I would've expected General Keyes to take his diplomatic aide with him on the transport and send his military aide to oversee security arrangements."

"Ours is not to reason why, Sergeant," Kennedy replied, stressing the young man's rank, but smiling with it. The question was valid, however impertinent, but Kennedy was not about to explain that she had been in the General's confidence for longer and was therefore more trusted. Keyes liked Amy, but wanted to keep her on a short leash.

Or maybe it had nothing to do with trust.

 

It was almost another hour before the trucks drew to a halt, and JF jumped down. Curie and Simpson heard her and Carlson talking to someone outside, and then the rattle of a heavy chain-link gate drawing back. The trucks ran on for another two hundred yards or so, and stopped, shutting off their engines.

"Everyone out!" Carlson barked, and the soldiers scrambled down from the tailgates. More than one of them gasped in amazement at what they saw.

The trucks had brought them to a sprawling base in the middle of nowhere, halfway up a mountain and buried in the cleft between two rocky crags. Steel-walled hangars stood around, and a mass of antennae and satellite dishes projected from the rooftops.

"Wow," Curie breathed, startled by the scale of the place.

"Yep," Kennedy affirmed. "This is where it all happens."

*

When the hesitant knock sounded on the door to her small office, on board General Keyes' personal transport, Amy called out for Private Petrie to enter.

"You wanted to see me, ma'am?"

"Yes, Petrie. I did." She looked at the woman for a long moment. "Well?"

"Um…"

"Shut the door behind you and stand to attention, damnit!" Amy snapped.

Petrie hurried to obey. "Oh. Sorry, ma'am."

"You're a disgrace to that uniform," Amy sneered as the door closed. "And if you don't start being a damn sight more careful then you're gong to get us all killed," she added, in a gentler voice. "An Air Force Private who's afraid of flying? Whose idea was this?"

Petrie looked away, awkwardly. "It's not that," she explained. "But a 747's engines, if they hit just the right pitch, could fritz the devices."

"Now you tell me that?" Amy asked, incredulous. "Oh well, no help for it now. Where did you get those things anyway?"

"They're modified from an alien technology," Petrie explained, relaxing a little more. "They seem to work okay."

"They're good; but the disguise isn't perfect. I knew it was you the moment I saw you, and it's confusing the hell out of me."

"It is?"

"Oh yeah. General Keyes isn't the only one on board that wants to jump your bones," Amy admitted. "Even looking like that…" She shook her head, distractedly.

"Oh…um…I didn't know you were…" Petrie looked intensely awkward at the turn the conversation had taken, and Amy could hardly blame her.

"I'm really not," she assured Petrie. "Hence the confusion."

"I can imagine," Petrie sympathised.

"Point is, though, you don't act like a soldier."

"I am trying, but I only had a few weeks to prepare. I've spent the last four years deliberately not acting like a soldier."

"I know. It's just it does put everyone in danger." Amy smiled, relenting. "But damn it's good to see you guys. You think fighting the Goa'uld is tough? Try pretending to be in thrall to an ultra-right wacko for a few months."

Petrie smiled, the gentle smile that Amy remembered so fondly, looking out of place on the unfamiliar face. "We all appreciate the sacrifices you've made," she assured Amy.

"There've been times I've almost started believing him," she admitted, wearily. "He's got charisma, and the courage of his convictions. By the time he laid it all out for me last week, I was almost ready to buy into it. If I hadn't know what he was going to say up front - or most of it at least - I might have gone for it. At least I haven't had to sleep with the horny old devil," she added. She gave a rueful shake of her head. "You should try to look browbeaten when you leave," she reminded Petrie.

"I'll just imagine I've been trying to persuade Jack to go to his monthly check-up," the young Private promised.

Amy smiled at the thought, then she caught Petrie in a sudden, affectionate hug. "God," she whispered. "I really missed you, Daniel."

*

"Alright, people," Carlson ordered, as his troops lined up in front of the strange base. "First and second squads, clear and secure the conference building. Third squad, clear and secure the landing field. Meadows and Wieszbaski, sweep the conference building for surveillance."

"I assure you, Lieutenant. That won't be necessary." A tall, grey-haired man in a black uniform stalked up to Carlson, accompanied by two subordinates. All three looked tough and capable; professional soldiers, although their uniforms were not any that Curie recognised.

"Colonel Monroe," Carlson greeted him with a lazy salute. "I have my orders. My detail are to personally secure the conference area, on the General's authority." Carlson oozed disdain for the Colonel, and one of his subordinates stepped forward as though to reprimand him.

"As you were, soldier," Monroe instructed, cocking his head to one side, but not turning to look. The man stood down, but did not seem happy about it.

"As the General desires, so shall it be done," Monroe continued, amicably, resentful rage boiling just below the surface. "Please, carry on, Lieutenant. When you're done, perhaps I could show you around the complex?"

"I've got a job to do," Carlson replied. "I'm not here for sightseeing." He turned his back on Monroe, and finished briefing his men. Curie could not help thinking that Monroe did not look like a man to turn your back on. "Curie and Simpson," he said. "Something a little special for our new boys. I want you to walk the perimeter of the base and give me a report on security. Carry on."

The soldiers dispersed about their duties, and Curie gazed around, mapping the perimeter in his mind. "What do you reckon?" He asked Simpson. "Three miles?"

"I should say at least five miles, including the cliff walls."

The compound was truly huge, and extended far to the west, where the perimeter fence wrapped around a landing field large enough to accommodate the General's 747.

"Don't take it personally," Kennedy advised them. "This is Carlson's feud with Captain Kawalsky. I've already checked it over; it's as sound as it's ever going to be. Just try to enjoy the walk, and we'll see you in a couple of hours." She slapped them encouragingly on the shoulders, and gave them a small push in the direction of the fence. They exchanged a weary look, then set off.

 

"I'm not sure this could have worked out better," Curie confided in Simpson, some minutes later. I mean, this gives us a perfect opportunity to scout out the base.

"Indeed, Sergeant Curie," Simpson replied. "Although it might be of greater use to see inside the conference building."

"Plenty of time for that," Curie assured him. "For now just look for anything - or anyone -suspicious."

"What do you believe the nature of this base to be?"

"I'm not sure. Bits of it look like an airfield, but there's not room for a decent number of planes to take off. There's only one runway, see," he pointed out. "And these hangars are strange. Half of them don't have flight doors, and out of those that do, not one of them has a taxiway outside the door." He paused, thoughtfully. "If anything, I'd say this place was a research station."

"But researching what?" Simpson asked.

"Well now; that's the big question."

_*_

"We've landed," Petrie noted.

"Yes," Starsky agreed. "We have landed. Well make an airman of you yet." He paused. "Airwoman. Whatever the PC term is these days." Neither Starsky nor Petrie was on duty, so they had retreated to a quiet space near the rear of the plane for a conference.

"Give me a break," Petrie pleaded. "I've been dodging General Keyes all morning, so I'm not exactly at my best."

"Aww. Poor Petwie," Starsky commiserated.

"I think I could have him up on charges, you know."

"You'd never make it stick. You'd just be flushing a promising career down the toilet. Or you could use this opportunity to sleep your way to the top," he advised.

"I think he has other, long-term sleeping arrangements," Petrie replied.

"You mean he's…using you!" Starsky gasped, in false shock. "You must feel so cheap."

Petrie returned a pained laugh. "I'm such a tramp," she agreed.

"What are you two talking about?" Amy asked, joining them from further forward.

"My new-found reputation as a slut," Petrie replied.

"I thought that was well established?" Amy said, smiling. Petrie rolled her eyes.

"So, are we refuelling?" Starsky asked. "'Cause it seems pretty soon in the flight for that."

Amy shook her head. "We're just picking up more passengers from Who-Knows-Where Field."

"Don't you know where?" Petrie asked.

"You'd think. Head of security and all that, but no. Anyway, General Keyes wants me to add another man to the cabin detail, so that's you, Lieutenant Starsky."

"Me? Wouldn't the General rather have Petrie?" Petrie groaned.

"Precisely the reason I'm putting you on," Amy assured him. "Although officially it's because she's in fatigues and presentation is important. But it's going to get more involved up there now, so it might be a good opportunity for you to take a look around," she told Petrie. "Keyes keeps dropping sly hints about this plane being 'special', and I have no idea what he's on about. Just be sure and keep your head down, and try to stay out of trouble."

Starsky clapped a hand on Petrie's shoulder. "Don't worry," he assured Amy. "I can't remember the last time Petrie needed any kind of rescuing."

"Thursday," Petrie muttered. "If you don't count when the General almost cornered me in the galley just now."

"Move it, Lieutenant," Amy ordered, good-naturedly. "No dilly-dallying."

"You know, you're not going to be my CO forever," Starsky warned her.

"I know. But if you respect me now, maybe I'll respect you then."

 

"So is he really that bad, General Keyes?" Starsky asked Amy.

"He's terrible," she confided. "Like a sixty-something teenager."

"Joking aside, how has he managed not to get court-martialled?"

"Well," Amy began. "For starters, he's very charming when he sets his mind to it. But also, from talking to the older members of his detail, it's really only started in the last couple of years. I dunno; he's hit the male menopause or something."

Starsky shook his head. "I just hope he doesn't really try anything with Da…with Petrie. I might have to hurt him."

Amy shot him a sly glance. "You fancy her," she accused.

"Do not," Starsky protested.

Amy smiled, wryly. "I don't know whose bright idea that was, but I'm telling you, we are all going to need serious therapy after this."

 

Amy and Starsky escorted Keyes all of the distance to the main door of the lounge, where he greeted the two new passengers; he did not bother even to walk to the outer door to meet them, which did not speak highly of his regard for them.

The first was a prim, almost regal-looking woman in middle age; the other a slovenly man of about twenty-five, wearing a rumpled designer-suit, and a very expensive pair of sunglasses.

"Senator Walters," Keyes greeted the woman. "A pleasure as always."

"General Keyes. So good to see you looking so well," the Senator returned, in honey-coated, preppy tones. They air-kissed like old friends at a society event, while their body language betrayed theirs as an alliance of pure convenience. They stiffened when they touched, as though even close proximity to one another appalled them.

"And Mr Backley," the General continued, pumping the young man's hand.

"Great to be here, Bobby," The General looked almost pained by the man's familiarity, but bore it.

"You like the plane?" Backley asked.

"She's a beauty," Keyes replied.

"It's very nice," Senator Walters allowed.

"She's more than nice," Backley assured her. "This baby's got more whistles and bells than Air Force One. All the latest countermeasures," he went on, as though in a sales pitch. "Prototype stealth technology - fire that up, and this whole thing'll look like a passing duck to anyone watching a radar screen - two escape pods, and of course, that little gizmo you asked us to stick in," he told Keyes.

Amy shot Starsky a look that seemed to say, I told you so.

"My engineers had a hell of a time working out a way to wire that thing up, but it's all good now."

"Yes, Mr Backley," General Keyes replied. "Your people have done an excellent job."

"As always, Bobby; satisfaction guaranteed. And speaking of satisfaction, he-llo," he crowed, walking over to Amy.

"Ah yes. Mr Backley, my chief of security; Captain Amy Kawalsky."

"Enchanté, mon capitan," Backley said, grabbing Amy's hand and kissing it. His French pronunciation was as appalling as his manner, and Amy fought hard to neither correct him, nor lay him out cold. Starsky subjected Backley to an icy glower, but he seemed oblivious.

And where, Amy wondered, forcing a polite smile. Is Ashenden when she could actually be useful.

 

Petrie crept quietly around the lower level of the 747, an area given over largely to storage, which also housed the two escape pods, which in emergencies would carry the most important passengers to safety. Between the two was a curtain, and Petrie peaked behind it.

"Well, that would be what's so special," she said to herself.

There were secured luggage racks on this level, and straps and webbing for larger cargo. The heavy crate that had been loaded shortly before take-off had been strapped against one wall. Petrie eyed up the crate, judging it size.

Reaching a decision, she located a carefully stowed crowbar, released the straps and levered open the crate. Lifting the top very slightly, she nodded, knowingly.

"I thought as much," she whispered, running her hand delicately over the exquisitely decorated surface of the object inside.

At that moment, the plane began to taxi. Carefully, Petrie replaced the lid, and knocked the securing nails back in as quietly as she could. She replaced the crowbar, and was about to secure the straps again, when the plane lifted from the ground. As the floor angled upwards, the heavy crate slid towards Petrie. She tried to ward it off, but she was off balance and began to fall backwards.

The crate was inches away from crushing the life out of Petrie's body, when a hand slapped down and halted its slide. With an effort, Petrie's saviour pushed the crate away, and the young soldier rose to help secure it in place once more.

Then she turned to face her rescuer; Sergeant Charlotte Ashenden.

"See what happens when you meddle where you don't belong," Ashenden admonished her. She held a pistol aimed at Petrie's heart. "Or at least when you meddle carelessly."

*

"If they've got any actual aircraft here, that's where they'd be," Curie remarked, motioning towards the largest hangar.

"Plainly there is something of great value within," Simpson agreed. Four of the black-clad security troops stood watch outside the small pedestrian door beside the main hangar hatch, and they had seen another three enter as they approached.

They were still only about a third of the way around the perimeter, and were now enclosed by the towering cliffs. Past these natural barriers, the fence was twenty feet high and made from titanium; there were guard towers at fifty metre intervals, each manned by three men with rifles and a fifty-cal machine gun. The security was tight.

"I don't like this," Curie said. "It's all more organised than we thought; like they've been working at this for a long…" He broke off as a figure emerged from behind the hangar and started towards them.

"Curie; Simpson," Lieutenant Kennedy greeted them.

"Lieutenant Kennedy," Simpson returned. "What brings you to this side of the base?"

"I got lost," she replied. "Figured I'd do best heading for the fence to get my bearings." Curie nodded his acceptance, although the base was far narrower than it was long, and consequently it should have been difficult to get lost.

"You two can escort me back to the conference building. I think you've done enough walking."

"We should finish our rounds, Lieutenant." Curie replied, warily.

Kennedy waved away the protest. "The whole assignment is just a bit of time-wasting Carlson dreamed up. I'll write you a note, and beside, I'm ordering you to escort me back."

"Yes, Lieutenant," Curie agreed.

"Lieutenant Kennedy," Simpson said. "What is it that this base is intended for?"

Kennedy looked at him sideways before answering. "Mostly for conferences," she told him. It was not convincing. "It isn't a military base."

"It isn't?" Curie asked, not managing to sound very surprised. "Lieutenant," he added, almost as an afterthought. "Then who runs it? What about Colonel Monroe?"

"Good soldiers don't ask so many questions."

"I'm sor…"

"Monroe was a colonel in the Marine Corps," Kennedy explained, as though she had never issued her rebuke. "He received an honourable discharge in rather unsavoury circumstances, and now he works for a man called Henry, one of the most highly-connected civilians in the country. Henry runs this base."

"And what does Henry do here?"

Kennedy stopped suddenly and turned to face Curie. "He does exactly whatever the hell General Keyes tells him to do," she said. "Just like we do. Do you have a problem with that, Sergeant?"

"No, ma'am " Curie assured her, now totally bemused by the officer's mercurial mood swings.

"Oh good," Kennedy replied. "Because I really don't like problems."

*

General Keyes and his guests were sitting in the lounge, sipping drinks. The appalling Backley - who was still wearing his sunglasses - was, apparently, a self-made billionaire, and seemed to believe that this justified him repeating his life story to anyone who cared to listen; or who had no other choice. It was a pretty tedious tale; the basic rags to riches number but without the uplifting climax where he realised that love was the only thing that mattered. He was still enjoying the sex and the drugs.

After fifteen minutes, Starsky would have been happy just to see the story end with Backley expiring, whispering the name of his childhood sled.

Through the tedium however, something was nagging at him, and he sidled over to Amy.

"Captain," he whispered.

"Lieutenant?"

"My Daniel sense is tingling."

"Huh?"

"I just…this is about the time when he usually gets into trouble," Starsky explained.

Amy gave a wry smile. "You stay here; I'll go check on her…him…whatever. Anything to get out of Backley's light of sight." As she spoke, the billionaire cast her another leer, an expression which he seemed to think was the height of charm.

Amy smiled politely; she had done that so often now that her cheeks were starting to ache. "If he tries to follow me out," she told Starsky. "Shoot him."

 

"A girl could get hurt, wandering about down here," Ashenden continued.

"You know, if you shoot me, you'll put a hole in the hull," Petrie warned.

"Fuselage," Ashenden corrected. "Boats have hulls; on an aircraft it's a fuselage, and you've been watching too many movies. Modern aircraft are made of sterner stuff; especially this one." After a moment however, she holstered the pistol, and Petrie relaxed a little.

"I was just…" She began.

"If I may suggest: Hiding from the General?" Ashenden interrupted. "I won't believe you, but thousands will."

"That's right," Petrie replied. "I was hiding from the General, when…"

"I said I wouldn't believe you," Ashenden reminded her. "But I also don't much care. What were you going to go with next? You were trying to hide in the crate?"

Petrie grinned, sheepishly.

Ashenden took a step towards Petrie, her eyes cold and hard. "You really need to be more careful," she whispered. "Or something very bad might happen to that pretty face." Petrie blinked, chilled to the bone by the woman's deadly voice.

"Petrie?"

"Am…Captain Kawalsky," Petrie corrected herself. Ashenden raised an eyebrow.

"What are you doing down…?" Amy broke off as she emerged form behind the luggage racks and saw Ashenden.

"Hiding from the General," Ashenden explained, not breaking eye contact with Petrie. She smiled, venomously, her back to Amy as she straightened the front of Petrie's dishevelled fatigues. "And just catching a little time to ourselves," she added, lasciviously.

Petrie saw Amy's eyes narrow, dangerously. "You're needed upstairs," the Captain said, calmly. "You too, Sergeant Ashenden."

"Of course," Ashenden replied, turning to face Amy with an expression of innocence. She brushed past the Captain, and turned her head back to Petrie. "So very nice, getting to know you," she said, with a throaty laugh that made Petrie shiver.

Amy watched her leave, then turned back to Petrie with the expression of a woman very much wanting an explanation.

"She caught me snooping," Petrie offered. "But I don't know what that last bit was about."

"That's because you just look like a girl," Amy assured her with a thin smile. "Come on; let's make sure she doesn't cause too much mischief."

 

"Ah. Sergeant Ashenden," General Keyes paused in the middle of lighting another of his cigars to greet her as she entered. "You know our guests?"

"I do indeed," Ashenden replied, smiling prettily at Backley - who leered in return - and politely at Walters - who barely acknowledged the gesture.

"And where have you been hiding?" Backley asked her, his eyes wandering past her to Amy and Petrie as they entered.

"The galley," she replied, sitting next to Backley and laying a hand on his arm. Almost immediately he lost interest in the new arrivals. Amy looked to Petrie and gave a very slight shrug, unsure what the General's secretary was playing at.

"I told the chef to begin preparing lunch," Ashenden continued. "It should be about ready by the time our final delegate arrives."

"Another partner, Robert?" Walters asked, irritated.

"Not precisely, Stephanie," Keyes replied, swiftly attempting to mollify the irate politician. "No; it was simply felt that the time was ripe for you and Richard to meet our opposite numbers."

"Who?" Backley asked, still distracted by Ashenden.

"Oh, do pay attention!" Walters snapped.

"Chill out!" Backley riposted. Although probably still young enough to use language of that kind, he gave the impression that he had never been cool enough to tell anyone to 'chill out' and sound like he meant it.

"Aliens, Richard," Keyes told him, puffing on his cigar. "We're going to meet the aliens."

Backley finally lowered his shades to reveal a pair of puffy, drug-raddled eyes. "Cool," he opined. Walters snorted in disgust.

*

As Curie, Simpson and Kennedy approached the conference building, they saw a staff car driving through the gates. Colonel Monroe hurried out from the control building to meet it, followed by half-a-dozen of his officers.

"Henry?" Curie asked.

"Henry," Kennedy affirmed.

The car pulled to a halt, as Lieutenant Carlson emerged from the conference building. The Driver - another of Monroe's company, by his looks - climbed out and opened the rear door.

The man who stepped from the car was one of the least assuming men that Curie had ever seen. He was a little less than six feet tall, with an average build, short brown hair and grey eyes. He wore a dark grey suit, and carried a black attaché case. There was nothing about him to suggest that he was anything special, except that the security officers treated him as though he were the voice of God.

"Welcome back, sir," Monroe said, saluting.

"Mr Henry," Carlson said. "The conference facility has been swept and secured. My men…"

"Check the base," Henry told Monroe, ignoring Carlson completely. He had a soft voice, but it carried well, and its inflections were strange and slightly stilted. "Search every building, top to bottom, and have every security post check in at twenty minute intervals."

"Yes, sir," Monroe returned. He saluted again, and turned to issue directives to him men.

"Mr Henry, I assure you…" Carlson began again.

"I do not want your assurances, Lieutenant," Henry replied, holding up a hand for Carlson to be silent. "I want to be certain that this conference will go off without a hitch. My backers are depending on me to ensure this, and I do not intend to let them down."

Carlson blanched.

"My God," Kennedy whispered. "I don't think I've ever seen him shut up so easily."

Henry strode past the three soldiers on his way to the control building. "Lieutenant Kennedy," he said, in his soft voice. Curie shivered.

"Mr Henry," Kennedy returned the greeting, with the barest quiver in her voice.

"He gives me the creeps," Curie confided, after he had gone inside.

"It's your imagination," Kennedy told her, with little conviction.

"He gives me the creeps also, Lieutenant Kennedy," Simpson said. "His mode of speech is strange, and he is oddly calm."

Kennedy looked at him sideways. "Some girls might find that appealing," she told him.

"Not me," Curie assured her, drawing another sidelong look.

"Whatever. Don't tell, I won't ask."

Curie looked awkward. "I'm just saying…There's something off about him."

Kennedy shrugged, wondering where Amy managed to find this pair. "He's an oddball right enough," she admitted. "But he's connected; and I mean big time. I don't know the details, but he's got powerful friends in low places, and he's a big part of making the General's plan happen, and that makes him okay by me. Get it?"

"Got it," Curie assured her, casting a worried glance to Simpson behind her back.

"Good."

 

Some thirty minutes later, Curie and Simpson were sitting in the commissary of the conference building, sipping bitter coffee and comparing impressions. Lieutenant Kennedy was sitting not far off, and Curie kept slipping cautious glances at the woman.

"What do you think she was really doing out there?" He asked Simpson.

"I do not know, but I am certain that she lied to us in regard to her actions."

"Which makes me wonder even more." Curie looked pensive. "I wonder if we could get into that hangar and take a look?"

"It would not be easy. Colonel Monroe's security personnel were watching every entrance most carefully." He looked around, suddenly alert. "And they are currently watching every exit from this room."

Curie looked up, alarmed, and saw that he was right. "What on Earth?" They stood, and edged along the tables towards the nearest unguarded door. Before they could reach it, a black-clad soldier stepped into view.

"Sit down," Kennedy hissed, without looking up at them. "If they're blocking the exits, you do not want to look like you need to leave." Curie and Simpson followed her advice, and sat near to her.

Henry strode into the commissary, and the temperature seemed to plummet.

"Mr Henry…" Carlson got no further before an icy glance silenced him.

"Lieutenant Carlson," Henry said. "I thought you told me that your men had secured the base?"

"The conference building," Carlson said, an edge of panic I his voice. "I was ordered to leave the remainder of the base to Colonel Monroe."

"I see." Henry looked out into the room. "Then you have no explanation as to why a powerful explosive device was found in the large hangar?"

*

The 747 rocked slightly as it passed through turbulence, and Petrie cast a look of slight concern at Starsky. Her eyes widened in fear as she saw the Lieutenant's face flicker, flashes of grey appearing behind the blonde hair. Amy heard her gasp, and looked round in time to see Petrie's face disappear, and Daniel Jackson's pop into its place, just for a moment.

Ashenden erupted in a fit of coughing, which drew Amy's eyes back to her. Had she seen? Amy wondered, resting her hand on the butt of her pistol.

Ashenden waved away Keyes' concern and Backley's groping attempts to perform the Heimlich manoeuvre. "'S'okay," she gasped. "Sorry. Just swallowed the wrong way." Amy relaxed.

"Well, I think it's about time anyway," Keyes said. "If you're alright, Sergeant, you can accompany me to the arrival area."

"I'm fine, sir. Really."

"Excellent. Captain; you and your fellows will accompany us as escort."

"Yes, General," Amy replied, baffled. She followed as the General left the lounge, but without any clear idea of where he was leading them.

"Arrival area?" Starsky asked in a whisper. "He does know this is an airplane, not an airport, right?"

"There's a set of transport rings on the lower level," Petrie told them.

"Ah. The gizmo," Starsky realised with a nod of understanding.

"There's also a sarcophagus in that crate," Petrie continued. "What's the betting that he's been using it to keep that spring in his step…"

"…and the twinkle in his eye," Amy added.

"That's why two years ago he suddenly became Doctor Lurve," Starsky concluded.

"It's like Cocoon," Petrie agreed. "If the old folks in Cocoon had been creepy, lecherous Nazis."

"So who would be arriving by transport ring?" Amy asked.

"The sponsors of this little operation," Starsky replied. "The Goa'uld."

 

In the belly of the plane, the transport rings lowered, and light flared between them.

"Right on schedule," Keyes commended, as the rings lifted, revealing three figures clad in the armour of Jaffa warriors. The central figure wore more ornate armour, and no helmet, revealing a face of incredible beauty and absolute coldness. She radiated such arrogance that even before the white fire burned in her eyes, it was plain to see that she was Goa'uld. The two Jaffa flanking her wore the armour of Apophis' Serpent Guards, but it was just possible to see that they were also women. Each Jaffa carried a staff weapon, and all three women had zat'nik'tels strapped to their right wrists.

"Kel'sha, Meretseger," Ashenden greeted the Goa'uld, bowing before her, bending her body from the waist, with her hands raised.

Meretseger reached out a hand and touched Ashenden's head. "Kel'sha, Nefera," she replied, in her gravely tone, and Petrie started in shock. Amy was dumbstruck.

"Welcome to Earth," Keyes told Meretseger. "I'm General Robert Keyes; it's a pleasure to meet you in person at last."

"The pleasure is all ours," Meretseger assured him, proffering her armoured left hand, and giving him a smile that did not reach her eyes. "To meet the master-to-be of the formidable Tau'ri." Keyes removed the Goa'uld's gauntlet, and kissed the backs of her fingers, reverently.

"Please, follow me," Keyes said. "We will make you more comfortable."

"We thank you, General Keyes," Meretseger said. "But may we not first make ourselves presentable? We have travelled far, and would refresh ourselves before joining your company."

"Of course. Charlotte; show Lady Meretseger and her escort to one of the VIP cabins, would you please."

"Certainly," Ashenden - or was it Nefera? - replied.

*

Lieutenant Carlson was plainly lost for words, pinned as he was under Henry's relentless gaze.

"It seems, Lieutenant, that we have a problem. As I have complete confidence in all of my people, it seems that you must have brought a saboteur into my base."

"It's not…" Carlson began, but his voice failed again.

"Fortunately," Henry said, turning back to scan the room, his eyes seeking out every face, as though the culprit were in some way marked for him to see. "I know exactly who the saboteur is."

"You…you do?"

"Yes, Lieutenant. I know who it is that has infiltrated your unit, with the intention of destroying all that we have worked for." Curie's stomach knotted, and he sought Simpson eyes for strength.

"The saboteur is an NID operative," Henry continued, and Curie felt the fear begin to drain away. "Codenamed Dagger." Kennedy's hands pressed hard against the table. "Dagger is an accomplished saboteur; unfortunately too accomplished. The handiwork on this device is quite distinctive. Of course, that would not have been a problem had it done its job, but as things stand it will be her undoing."

"Her?"

"Yes, Lieutenant," Henry repeated, for all the world as though he were doing this to educate Carlson, rather than to frighten the troops. "Dagger is a woman. Is that not correct, Lieutenant Sandra Kennedy."

Henry carried on speaking her name, even as Kennedy leaped to her feet and bolted for the door. At the same time, he drew a slim target pistol from inside his suit, aiming it at her back. Making a snap decision, Curie stuck out his leg, and swept Kennedy's feet from under her. The shot from Henry's gun blew a disproportionately large hole out of the commissary wall, but Kennedy's only harm was a bloodied nose.

Simpson moved quickly to help Curie, and together they hauled Kennedy to her feet.

Henry approached, and thrust the barrel of the pistol into her face. "You have caused me a great deal of trouble," he told her, his voice never changing its tone.

W...wait!" Carlson called. "You've got to wait for the General."

"I have located a traitor, Lieutenant Carlson," Henry reminded him. "Why should I wait?"

"She's one of his favourites," Carlson told him. "One of Keyes' Angels. If she's betrayed him, he'll want to see her die."

Henry held the pistol in place for several seconds more, but at last he raised it and replaced the safety. "I see your point, Lieutenant," he said. "Very well." He turned to Curie. "Sergeant; take this woman to the detention building. Have the duty officer place her in maximum security confinement."

"Yes, sir," Curie replied, trying to keep the fear from his voice.

*

Meretseger emerged from her cabin clad in a white satin sheath, with gold trim. Backley could barely stop drooling from the moment she entered the room, and even Walters had a hard time keeping her eyes from the Goa'uld. For Starsky, Petrie and Amy, it was easier; they knew first hand what it was that lurked inside that beautiful, graceful shell.

The two Jaffa joined the three humans in keeping watch over the lounge, but had left their staff weapons in the cabin. They had also shed their full armour, and wore only slate-grey robes, which seemed to fulfil the same role as Air Force parade uniform. Both were attractive women, and while less so than Meretseger herself, they lacked much of her cold arrogance.

Keyes sat back, puffing smoke towards the extractors - Meretseger had politely declined to join him in a cigar - and discussed the future with the Goa'uld.

"Of course, there is the initial matter of getting the Earth accepted into the league," Meretseger explained. "There are many difficulties, such as the disunity of the Tau'ri."

"Which is where we come in," Walters interjected.

"In part, yes," Keyes agreed. "Our first task is to demonstrate America's strength to the System Lords."

"Yes," Meretseger said. "As the controllers of the only functional Chappa'ai on the planet, you will of course be deemed the only race in your world with whom it would be suitable to deal. Once you have established your mastery of your nation, the Lord Apophis will take the next step."

Backley look baffled. "Masters of the nation?" He asked. "Sounds cool, but…?" Walters snorted disdainfully.

"As you know, Richard," Keyes told him. "Stephanie is planning to run for the Presidency in 2004. She's expected to fail, like all women ever to contest the position, but she will not." Keyes smiled coolly at his ally. "With Mr Henry's aid, we will create the circumstances in which Stephanie can - nay must - win the election. Then she will appoint me as National Security adviser."

"You should know all of this by now," Walters sneered.

"With that accomplished," Meretseger continued, laying a calming hand on Backley's arm to keep him from launching himself at the Senator. "President Walters will free the United States from the binding terms of the Protected Planets Treaty" - Petrie and Starsky exchanged a worried look - "and Lord Apophis shall be free to appoint General Keyes as a warlord in his service. Earth shall become a subservient domain to Apophis, and we shall provide you with weapons - and the means to make more - which shall ensure your dominance of this world."

Starsky and Petrie were both sending Amy 'we need to talk' looks, but there was nothing she could do until the shift changed.

"With such control, and the support of Lord Apophis, your world will quickly rise to become a power in the league, to rival at least the lesser Lords. With the Chappa'ai you shall expand your domains, and with the resources of Earth, your armies shall be legion. We estimate that within a few decades, you will be ready to take your place as System Lords."

Backley licked his lips, his avaricious mind racing behind his eyes. "And the 'means to make more' weapons. All of those contracts would go to my companies?"

"Absolutely," Keyes promised, as though talking to a rather slow child.

"Very cool," Backley announced with a smile.

*

"Get your damn hands off me!" Kennedy spat. "That's an order!"

"Prisoner for maximum security," Curie told the duty officer, ignoring the woman's bluster. "We're to see her in and have a few minutes alone with her," he added.

"Why?" The officer asked, suspicious.

"She is our commanding officer," Simpson replied. "And she betrayed us. We are entitled to revenge." Kennedy stopped her struggles, chilled by the matter-of-factness of his tone. The guard still looked doubtful.

"Come on," Curie said, conspiratorially. "You know how it is. Just give us five minutes? Come on, man. The…bitch lied to us," he managed, with barely a stumble.

The officer nodded. "You got ten minutes," he said, grimly. "Give her hell."

"No," Kennedy begged, but the door was open, and Curie and Simpson dragged her through.

 

"Watch the door," Curie ordered Simpson, shoving Kennedy down in a corner of the room. The cell was dry and clean, but very dark, with only a grilled hatch in the door to admit light.

"Yes, Sergeant Curie," the bigger man replied.

"Okay, Kennedy," Curie said. "Tell us what you know, and we'll try to help you."

Kennedy glowered defiantly at Curie. "If this is your way of getting in with Carlson…" She began.

"No, it's…" Curie began, impatiently. "Okay; look." Then he began fumbling with his belt. Kennedy froze in horror. "What?" Curie asked. "Oh, God; no. Not…Look." The air around the young man seemed to ripple, and he vanished, to be replaced by a woman with sandy-blonde hair. Her hand was on a switch, hidden behind her belt buckle.

"Gah!" Kennedy cried out. The woman was there for a moment, then it was Curie again. "You…You're Major Samantha Carter," Kennedy whispered.

"I know that," Curie/Carter replied. "How about you?"

"Joanne Freemont-Kingsley," she said. "How did you…"

"Never mind. You're an NID operative?"

"Yes," Freemont-Kingsley replied. "Deep cover. I've been investigating Keyes' conspiracy for a year and a half now. How long has the SGC been involved?"

"Since we found out Keyes was planning to sell the planet out to the Goa'uld. About seven, eight months now."

Joanne nodded her understanding. "Amy Kawalsky, right? She's working with you."

Curie looked doubtful, but at last he nodded.

"I'm…I'm glad," Freemont-Kingsley admitted. "Okay," she went on. "Here's the scoop. The NID has a strike team in place to assault the base once Keyes arrives. I'm supposed to signal them once the 747 touches down to confirm the General's presence, then they swoop in and arrest him for treason. The bomb was supposed to create a distraction and cripple the base's air support."

"What air support?"

"Two death gliders - or an approximation using terrestrial materials - equipped with Goa'uld stealth technology. If they get off the ground, then five times the number of troops in the strike team couldn't take this base. Blowing up the hangar would also make certain no-one could escape using the transport rings."

"There are Goa'uld transport rings within the large hangar?" Simpson asked.

"Teal'c, right? Yes, one of two sets the General was given by his sponsors. The second he had Backley install on his transport."

"Backley?" Curie asked.

"Richard Backley. America's third most eligible bachelor; according to magazine columnists. The ones who've never actually met him, that is. He's a billionaire industrialist who wants the Goa'uld to rule the Earth so he never has to pay taxes again."

"That's grotesque," Curie protested.

"Backley is grotesque," Joanne agreed. "He's an obscene child-man who thinks the world owes him. But he's also just a pawn. Keyes and Walters are the real power in the conspiracy, but I don't think they really know what they're dealing with either," she added.

"They do not," Simpson affirmed.

"How can you be certain?" Joanne asked.

"Because they are dealing with it."

Joanne nodded her agreement. "That's fair."

"So what do we do to call in the marines?" Curie asked.

"You need to send a message out on secure military channel 17. There's a scrambler though."

"Where is it?"

"Okay. Carlson and I were given rooms in the conference building while we were making arrangements here last week. By now Henry will have torn mine apart, but the scrambler is in a pack, hidden behind a panel under Carlson's bed. It's the second room on the right at the top of the first flight of stairs as you go into the building. With any luck, they won't have found it yet."

"Is Carlson working with you?" Curie asked.

Joanne snorted her contempt for the man. "Just sleeping," she replied, with keen distaste. "I needed to get close to keep him from seeing what I was up to. Probably didn't need to bother, but I'm guessing it saved my hide today when he stopped Henry killing me.

"Once you attach the scrambler," she went on. "You have to transmit the message: 'The goose is in the oven'."

"Goose?" Curie asked.

"There's a reason people like me join the Circus," Joanne explained with a wry smile. "Too much James Bond and John le Carré."

"Okay," Curie said. "We'll get on it, and we'll try to come back for you."

"Thanks," Joanne said. "But there's a little more you need to know."

"Alright, but make it quick" Curie warned. "We're almost out of time."

Joanne nodded. "Paper?" Curie handed her pen and pad. "The pack also contains a PDA. Access the PDA with this password" - she scribbled an alphanumeric code onto the pad - "and access this file." She added the file name to the note: wpw3wt. "That's the layout schematics for the research base that existed on this site before this one. When they put up this version, they just patched up a lot of the old buildings, but they didn't realise that most of the original facility was underground. Most of the subterranean complex is still down there. There's a key in the pack that will open the doors, although they'll be a bit stiff. I've marked on the schematic where you can get down into the old base. It should help you get around if Henry gets too suspicious.

"You'll also need to organise a diversion for when the attack comes. The base is well-positioned and it'll be difficult to assault. The strike team isn't large, and they'll need all the help they can get."

"We shall do what we can, Lieutenant Freemont-Kingsley," Simpson promised.

"Doctor," Joanne corrected, with a smile.

Simpson looked away from the door for a moment, and bowed his head in acknowledgement.

Joanne turned to Curie, her face serious. "Be very careful, Major. Henry must have even more resources than I thought to have cracked my cover. Don't underestimate him."

"We won't," Curie assured her.

"The duty officer is returning," Simpson warned.

"Let's make this look good," Joanne said, resignedly, pushing herself up the wall, and arranging Curie's hand on her lapels. "I figure a couple of punches and a boot to the ribs. But Major?"

"Yes?"

Joanne touched a hand, gingerly to her bruised nose. "Not in the face; okay?"

"Okay."

_*_

On board the 747, lunch had been served, and enjoyed by all. Well; almost all. Amy had joined the company to eat, but Petrie and Starsky were on duty, and so were obliged to stand and smell the food, without being allowed to taste. The Jaffa also remained on guard, although Petrie felt they looked as though they could use some food. They were both slightly pale, and one appeared a little unsteady on her feet.

To add insult to injury, Petrie then found herself drafted into helping with the clearing up. Ashenden - tasked with the catering arrangements - had asked, and General Keyes had pointed out there was little danger at present, and told her to be a good girl and lend a hand. Petrie suspected he might be drunk, and further that there was probably a great deal of danger so long as Meretseger was on board the plane with her aesthetically-pleasing goon squad. However, unlike Starsky she was not really used to guard duty, and the chance to stretch her legs was enough of a relief that she did not object too much to the task, however demeaning.

"I know who you are," Ashenden announced, suddenly, pinning her in the galley hatch.

"I know who you are, Nefera," Petrie replied. "And who you really work for."

Nefera narrowed her eyes, dangerously. "Do you now," she purred, laying a hand on Petrie's shoulder and pushing her back into the galley. The chef looked startled, but when Ashenden motioned for him to leave, he did so.

"Your mistress is dead," Petrie told Nefera. Her eyes flashed dangerously. "She told us about Keyes' plot; everything she knew from you."

Nefera reached out with her foot, and shoved the galley hatch closed. Petrie took advantage of her momentary imbalance to gain the upper hand, tripping her, and pinning her arm behind her back.

"Nice moves," Nefera complimented. "Not quite what I'd been led to expect though. I wouldn't have thought Daniel Jackson would strike a defenceless woman."

Petrie/Daniel, hesitated at that, giving Nefera the opportunity to twist free and retreat to the far side of the cramped galley.

"Anyway," Nefera continued, rubbing at her arm to try and soothe the ache. "Didn't I save you once already? When your disguises failed you," she reminded him, when she looked blank.

"That was deliberate?"

"My orders are to prevent this alliance," Nefera replied. "Although Astarte is dead, I intend to obey her last command, and you and yours are the perfect weapon." She smiled. "Besides; I am a sentimentalist. My former mistress, Amaunet, was very fond of you."

"That's…nice," Petrie said, awkwardly. "I wonder what it is about me that attracts so many megalomaniac sociopaths?"

"You're a nice guy, Daniel," Nefera replied. "Sensitive, compassionate." Petrie blushed. "It makes you easy to manipulate. Goa'uld often like that in a man."

"I had to ask."

"You are also a glutton for punishment. Another big turn on…"

Petrie grimaced. "Okay; I get the picture. Thank you."

"Meretseger is up to something," Nefera said, suddenly serious.

"What?"

"I don't know; but a part of the plan that I have not been let in on. She is not here to negotiate, that I can tell you."

"You're sure?"

"She is a courtesan and assassin, not a diplomat or even a very minor System Lord. She would probably have destroyed the alliance with her arrogance by now, if Keyes were not so besotted with her."

"You think she was sent to distract him?"

"I think it is the only reason to send her," Nefera agreed. "I'm just not sure from what she is meant to distract him."

"What about the Jaffa," Petrie asked. "I've never seen female Jaffa warriors before."

"I do not know," Nefera replied .She moved past Petrie and opened the door. "But you are right that it is…more than unusual. Be on your guard."

 

In the lounge, talk had moved away from business. Walters looked lost and frustrated, as Keyes, and especially Backley, fawned over Meretseger. The Goa'uld was encouraging both men with delicate touches on their hands or arms, and occasional bursts of high, bubbling laughter, which left her eyes as cold and unmoved as any of her smiles. Starsky did not think that Keyes and Backley were paying much attention to her eyes, however. Backley seemed intent on getting the Goa'uld drunk, but while she had accepted a glass of bourbon, she did not drink, and he was left to make a goodly attack on the bottle himself.

Amy rose and walked over to him. "I'm not sure I can take much more of this," she confided. "I'm going to go and endanger the treaty by searching her cabin."

"Be careful," Starsky cautioned.

"I've been at this for six months now," she assured him. "I'm always careful."

After a few minutes, Amy was not back, and nor was Petrie, and Starsky began to worry. He knew he could not leave his post without drawing suspicion, but he ached to go and make sure his friends were alright.

He waited, tense with concern, and at length his attention drifted back to the conspirators. Meretseger was whispering sweet nothings in Backley's ear as though it were a standard part of every interstellar treaty negotiation. Keyes meanwhile had beckoned one of the Jaffa closer, and was whispering to the woman. A moment later, the General rose and announced that he needed to rest before their arrival. Not long after he left, the Jaffa followed, and at the same moment Amy returned.

"I've got a bad feeling," he whispered to her. "I need to follow the General."

Amy nodded. "Lieutenant," she said, for anyone who might still be listening. "Go and make sure the next shift is ready. I'll keep watch while you're gone."

Starsky saluted, and left the lounge, then headed not downstairs to the guard quarters on the middle level, but towards the General's cabin. As he approached the door, he heard sounds of a struggle from within. At first he was not sure whether he should intervene, but then the General cried out, and Starsky rushed to the door.

Even as he reached it, the door flew open, and Keyes emerged, eyes wide with rage.

"That woman attacked me!" He exclaimed. "It's a set up! Treachery! Secure that harpy, Lieutenant."

"Yes, sir," Starsky replied, stepping past the General into the room.

The Jaffa lay on the floor in the centre of the opulent cabin. Her limbs were splayed and her robe in disarray. The zat was still strapped to her wrist, and she was quite, quite still. Starsky knelt beside her and felt at her throat; there was no pulse.

"She's dead, sir," he reported.

*

It was the work of moments for Curie to duck underneath Lieutenant Carlson's bed and retrieve Joanne's pack. Carlson was engaged in a furious row with Colonel Monroe, over the fact that Monroe's security force had been put back in charge of the base, and Carlson's detail confined to the conference building. Had he broken off the argument, Simpson would hear and be able to give warning.

"Like taking candy from a baby," Curie assured Simpson as he slipped back into the corridor.

"Why would one wish to give a sweetened confection to an infant in the first place?" Simpson asked. "Would not the child's teeth be damaged?"

Curie shook his head, but with a warm smile. "Black or white; you are a true original," he told his friend.

The two of them hurried along the corridor and down the stairs. Two black-clad guards stood just inside the entrance, and two more outside it; there would be no getting out that way. They tried the other two exits, and found the same situation, and so were forced to retreat to a quiet corner of the commissary to plan.

With Simpson on lookout, Curie sat with his back to the room and examined the contents of the pack. Everything that Joanne had said would be there was, plus a practical black one-piece, a zat gun, a number of small explosive devices and a compact crossbow.

"I'm not sure what she's a doctor of," Curie whispered. "But I'm guessing not medicine." He dug out the PDA and accessed the file. "Asyut Complex," she read off. "Sounds like something Daniel would be interested in."

"Indeed, Sergeant Curie," Simpson replied. "Asyut is one of the Goa'uld's greatest shipyards."

"Wonder what this project was all about," Curie said. "It's dated 1968, when the Stargate program was on indefinite hiatus." He panned around the plan for a moment, then focused on a particular point.

"Have you found something of value, Sergeant Curie?"

"According to Joanne, there should be a way into the Asyut Complex in the basement level of this building, and a way out less than thirty yards from the radio shack."

"There is another matter of some concern to me, Sergeant Curie. I noted as we left the detention building, that the security forces were maintaining a particular watch on one of the smaller hangars; more so than on the hangar containing their air defences."

Curie nodded. "I noticed that too. We should definitely take a look at what's going on in there. But first we need to get to the basement."

"I believe the stairway down to the lower level is located behind the commissary," Simpson replied. "As only the entrances are being watched, it should be easy enough to reach them."

*

"That…woman; that hussy attacked me and tried to kill me," General Keyes fumed.

"I assure that she did not," Meretseger replied. The Goa'uld was making every sign of being flustered and confused, but her eyes once more betrayed her, remaining as calm and cold as ever.

"Are you calling me a liar?"

"Of course she's not, Bobby," Backley interjected. "She's just saying you…misconstrued events."

"Precisely," the Goa'uld agreed. "I assure you, had one of my Jaffa desired to kill you, you would be quite dead."

"This is your idea of making amends?" Keyes demanded. "Threats?"

"No, not threats. I am sorry for what has happened, General. But you must believe this is a misunderstanding. Perhaps my escort was carried away in her ardour?" She suggested. Walters frown deepened, but Keyes seemed somewhat mollified.

"I'm still not sure," the General told her. "Captain Kawalsky; would you and your detail keep an eye on Ms Meretseger while Senator Walters and I confer?"

"Yes, sir," Amy replied. She, Starsky and Petrie had been joined by the next shift, making the lounge rather crowded. It was quite a relief when Keyes and Walters stepped into the conference room. Backley was left behind, but in Meretseger's company so he did not seem to mind.

Amy drew Starsky and Petrie aside. "Well; what do you think?" She asked.

"Nefera said that Meretseger was up to something," Petrie told the others. "That she doesn't hold much authority in Apophis' court, and she was probably sent to distract."

"I think we should take anything Ashenden says with a pinch of salt," Amy warned, glancing over at the woman.

Petrie looked about to argue, but Starsky could see that one running and running, so he stepped in. "I think Keyes was right about this being a set-up; I'm just not sure what the game is."

"Game?" Petrie asked.

"Yeah; the game. Every con game has a set-up, and a knockdown. Keyes kills Meretseger's servant; that's the set-up. But what's the knockdown?"

"Maybe it's the other way around," Amy suggested. "Maybe Keyes is trying to drive a harder bargain?"

Starsky shook his head. "Something's bugging me and I can't put my finger on it. I want to take a look at the stiff," he decided.

"You two go," Amy said. "I'll stay here and keep an eye on things."

 

"You know; this is the one thing wrong with the SGC," Petrie said. "We don't spend enough time with dead people."

"We make a few of them," Starsky offered.

"But that's not quality time." Petrie pulled the robe back up the Jaffa's arm, gingerly examining her skin.

Starsky smiled. "You know I don't find you at all attractive," he said, apropos of nothing.

"And you tell me that while we're looking at girl's corpse, because…?"

"I just wanted to clear the air. I don't find you - that is Louise Petrie - attractive."

"And I don't find you attractive," Petrie returned, defensively. "And while we're on the subject, could you have been a little more conspicuous? Starsky?"

"I've gotten to like Starsky," Starsky admitted. "And what's so great about Petrie?"

"He was one of the greatest archaeologists of all time."

"I knew picking our own names was going to cause trouble. I said as much."

"Yes but you wanted for you to get to be Starsky, and everyone else to be called hello."

"Hello?"

"Look at her hands?" Petrie said.

"They're very nice hands," Starsky replied.

"Well yes they are," Petrie agreed. "Which is odd because I can't remember the last time I saw a Jaffa warrior with a manicure."

"And no calluses," Starsky added, catching Petrie's drift. He felt her upper arm. "Not much muscle either, and what kind of Jaffa wouldn't even have time to reach for her zat?"

"I knew there was something odd about these Jaffa," Petrie said.

"Apart from them being female?"

"Like I'm going to find that odd right now." Petrie bent and sniffed the corpse's hair. "She was young, too," she added.

"You can tell from the smell?" Starsky was mildly disturbed by that idea.

"No. Just an independent observation. There's a scent of incense in her hair," she continued. "I've smelled it before; on the priests on Chulak, and on Shan'auc."

Starsky was taken aback. "You were sniffing Shan'auc?"

Petrie gave him an impatient glower. "It was stronger on her, but I think this woman…this girl was a temple priestess before they dressed her up as a soldier."

"Why bring a priestess as your escort?"

"To get close to Keyes," Petrie suggested. "He seems to be a sucker for a pretty face."

"But Meretseger fits that bill her…Are you trying to point out that the General thinks you're pretty?"

"No!"

"Okay then," Starsky allowed, dubiously. "But why all the pretence? If not to kill him, or just to get close to him…I think Amy's right."

"What?"

"We are going to need therapy when this is over."

Petrie smiled, but her face turned serious again as she looked down at the dead Jaffa. "Poor kid," she whispered.

"She's a Jaffa. Maybe not a warrior, but she's not some fragile little thing."

"I know," Petrie replied. "But she was very young; probably not much older than Ry'ac. And she never had a chance to be anything else. She can't have expected to die, either; General Keyes must be extraordinarily strong to do so much damage her symbiote couldn't save her."

Starsky nodded, sadly, caught up in the pathos for a moment. Then his brow furrowed, and after a moment's hesitation, he pulled aside her robe, and plunged his had into the girl's pouch.

"Jack?" Petrie asked. "Or, Jim?"

"There's nothing there," Starsky replied. "It's gone."

"But gone wh…?"

Petrie looked up and met Starsky's eyes as they shared a moment of revelation. "Keyes!"

*

Getting into the basement of the conference building did indeed prove easy, but finding the entrance to the Asyut Complex did not.

"It should be right here," Curie insisted, pointing at the rack of shelves, screwed to the wall. As Joanne had said, most of the more substantial buildings on the site had been reconstructed using the old facility as a framework. This meant that the foundations and basements were - aside from a few additional support pillars - more-or-less unchanged.

"There is a space behind this shelving unit," Simpson informed him.

"Are you sure?" Curie asked, coming around to check. "Looks like there's just wall…" But Simpson was right; there was a sliver of a gap behind the shelves.

Together they took hold of the unit and pushed; the wall section which the shelves were attached to swung away, revealing a flight of stairs leading a short distance down to a sullen-looking metal door. In the centre of the door had been stencilled a biohazard symbol.

"Well, that's never a good sign," Curie suggested.

"It may be intended simply as a means of dissuading intruders from entry," Simpson suggested. "Dr Freemont-Kingsley did not mention that there was any danger in this complex."

"You think she was honest with us?" Curie asked, locating the keyhole.

"If there was any deception, I am unaware of it, Sergeant Curie."

Curie nodded. "Likewise," he agreed, and opened the door.

The door opened easily, and the air inside was fresh; Joanne - or possibly someone else - must have used this part of the complex recently. That use was not frequent or heavy however; years-old cobwebs hung from the walls, causing Curie to suppress a shudder.

"You do not like arachnids?" Simpson asked, pulling the shelves closed behind them.

"Spiders I don't mind," Curie replied. "It's just cobwebs I'm not keen on; although they argue against a significant biohazard." He pushed the door shut, then deactivated his disguise unit, and was Major Carter once more. "If we get seen, it might be useful to be able to nip of and become Curie and Simpson again," she noted. "Besides, it'll be good to let the power-packs recharge a little."

Simpson nodded his agreement, and a moment later his image resolved into that of Teal'c. Both were now dressed in black fatigues, similar but not identical to those sported by the security forces in the base above them, or the one in Joanne's bag. The concealing fields had also hidden the zat'nik'tels holstered on their right hips.

The cloaking devices themselves were about the size of a silver dollar, and were designed to affix directly to the skin of the chest. After the aliens who used the devices to infiltrate the SGC had fled from Earth, however, the remaining devices had ceased to operate, and even after she had begun to understand the way in which they worked, Sam had been obliged to design a system to both power the devices and provide them with the data they required to form their concealing illusion; hence the need to adapt them into belt-carried units.

The power source was similar to that of a zat'nik'tel, and the energy was fed through a transformer, stored in a cell and supplied to the device as needed; both the transformer and the cell had needed to be built from scratch. More complex still had been creating the images. The data storage units in the belts held millions of motion capture frames of actors and computer game models, acquired from a Hollywood digital talent agency - which was why Petrie somewhat resembled a blonde Lara Croft - at vast expense, which combined to provide the device with an image to match almost any motion.

Following the map on Joanne's PDA, Sam and Teal'c moved along the grey-walled corridors. The place had much in common with the subterranean NORAD/SGC complex at Cheyenne Mountain; the same military utilitarianism. Only once did they see any sign of decoration, when they passed a large double door - sealed, and with no keyhole - marked with what looked like the head of a dog. Another biohazard symbol had been stencilled over the top of the image.

"Wepwawet," Teal'c said.

"Gesundheit," Sam returned.

"Wepwawet is - or rather was - the chief shipwright of Asyut. He is credited with the creation of the first Goa'uld hyperdrive."

"A Goa'uld inventor?"

"More likely he simply stole the technology," Teal'c answered. "When I was last on Chulak there were rumours that he had been taken by Apophis to create his new Ha'tak vessels, and the mothership that SG-1 destroyed. Some said that he died with his creation, others that Apophis had him executed for failing to properly secure the construction site. His symbol was the wolf's head."

"Well, the paint on that biohazard symbol is old; I'd say it's been here since the complex was sealed in" - she checked the PDA's notes - "1974. What would the symbol of a Goa'uld shipbuilder be doing in a USAF base in 1974?"

"I am uncertain, Major Carter, but remember that Wepwawet may also have been one of your Earth gods. Perhaps Daniel Jackson can supply an explanation once he arrives."

"Perhaps." They left the mysterious doors, and went on.

 

Some sections of the complex appeared to have partially collapsed, but only a few of these were noted on the map; plainly Joanne's explorations had been limited. It took a little while therefore, but eventually Sam unlocked and opened a door much like the one they had entered through, and found herself standing at the bottom of a ladder, underneath a hatch which - according to the schematic - should bring them up inside the small hangar.

"Okay," she said. "Here goes nothing."

At the top of the ladder, she turned the wheel un the inside of the hatch. It squealed in protest at the movement and she stopped, listening intently. When there was no sign that she had been detected, she turned the wheel again; it gave another squeal, but she kept turning and the noise dropped to a scraping sound, and the hatch released with a dull thunk. Again, Sam waited for any response, then pushed up. It shifted very slightly, and a trickle of dirty water fell in, but Sam was unable to lift it far enough to see out.

Sam swung to one side of the ladder. "Teal'c," she hissed. "Come and give me a hand." Warily, for the ladder was rather aged, Teal'c climbed up alongside Sam.

"You lift," she told him. "I'll peek." So saying, she drew a field periscope from the left thigh pocket of her uniform.

Teal'c hooked his arm around the ladder, and pushed with all his might. The hatch lifted, enough for Sam to poke the periscope up, and confirm that there was no one watching.

"It looks like we're in between a bunch of storage tanks," she said. "I can't see what's in them. We'll have to go up and take a look." Replacing the periscope, she added her strength to Teal'c's, and they lifted the hatch to ninety degrees. Quickly, Sam climbed out, then held the hatch so the Teal'c could follow her without letting it fall back. Seen from above, it was immediately obvious why the hatch had been so damned heavy. The floor of the small hangar was plate steel, cut with drainage channels. The plates had been fixed over a set of existing floor plates, and a steel-grill walking surface placed on top of that. All of these plates had been fixed on top of the hatch, and the upshot was that the hatch was composed of three layers of heavy-duty, steel floor surface.

As they lowered the hatch, Sam wondered at the way in which it fit snugly, almost invisibly into place.

"Someone knew about the old base when they were building this thing," she commented.

"Indeed," Teal'c concurred. "Perhaps the subterranean routes are less secure than Dr Freemont-Kingsley believed?"

"There was no sign they used them," Sam replied. "Maybe the NID just got to a few of the workmen and…Whoa!" She broke off, a dizzy feeling taking hold of her.

They had emerged into a small space between four large storage tanks. It was cramped and ill-lit, but Sam was no claustrophobic, and it took her a moment to recognise the sensation for what it was.

"Do you feel…?" She asked.

"Goa'uld," Teal'c affirmed. "Very many of them."

Sam looked up at the tank surrounding them. "I've got a…"

"…bad feeling about this," Teal'c agreed.

There was a ladder at the side of the tank, and Sam kept watch while Teal'c went up and peered over the top.

"Well?" She asked, as he returned.

"There are several guards around this place," the Jaffa cautioned. "But I believe that you should see this for yourself."

With a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach, Sam ascended the ladder. From the top it was obvious that there were several more tanks in the hangar; maybe eight or ten in total, but she was barely able to register them, let alone make a count, because her attention was seized by the sight within the tank she had climbed.

Goa'uld.

Dozens of them, still in their early larval stage, swimming freely in a warm, briny, nutrient soup. They swirled madly, thrashing the water, apparently agitated by something.

"What the hell is up with them?" Sam heard a guard call out. Immediately she slipped down the ladder to rejoin Teal'c.

"They know we're here," she said.

"You were seen?"

"Felt," Sam replied. "The Goa'uld can sense us, and they are not happy."

Teal'c nodded. "Then let us leave."

With an effort, they heaved up the hatch. They could hear the guards growing more agitated, as the Goa'ulds' excitement began to infect them, but Sam did not think that they were seen when the hatch thumped closed behind them. Nonetheless, she chanced the tortured shrieks to reseal the hatch, and locked the door behind them.

"How many larvae, would you say?" She asked Teal'c.

"Perhaps thirty-to-fifty in that tank; as many as five hundred if each tank were as full."

"Five hundred Goa'uld larvae," Sam shook her head in horror at the thought. "They were about ready for implantation in a Jaffa, weren't they."

Teal'c nodded. "We must destroy these larvae before they can be implanted, or General Keyes will have an army of incredible strength. With the exception of elite troops such as the Horus or Serpent Guard, Jaffa in the service of the System Lords have limited training. If these prim'ta were to be placed within already skilled Tau'ri warriors…"

"I get the picture," Sam agreed. "Although I'm not comfortable with the idea of slaughtering defenceless infants."

Teal'c raised his eyebrow. "Major Carter; you should remember that - while physically limited - these prim'ta are both intelligent and malevolent. Tanith was little more developed than this when he began to engineer his insertion into the ranks of the Tok'ra, and…"

Sam laid a hand on Teal'c's arm, understanding. "You're right," she agreed.

Teal'c gathered his composure. "We should also try to ensure that the prim'ta are destroyed before the arrival of the NID strike team. The danger inherent in allowing the NID to acquire a Goa'uld for study has been made clear to me in the time I have worked at the SGC."

Sam nodded. "Let's get to the radio shack. We can call General Hammond, he can triangulate our position and get some more trustworthy fire-support than the NID marines." She checked through the pack, making a count of Joanne's remaining demolition charges; there were two. "Then we'll have to see if we can find some more explosives, because these aren't going to be enough to take out more than two or three of those tanks."

*

Starsky and Petrie burst into the lounge, causing Amy and Nefera to look up in alarm. The other soldiers looked more confused, and Backley was somewhat drunk.

"Where's Meretseger?" Starsky demanded.

"Conference room," Amy replied.

"Jaffa?"

"Yes, her too. The General told us to stay outside," she added, concerned.

Without stopping for explanations, Starsky drew a zat, walked over to the conference room door and kicked it open. Petrie crowded in beside him, with Amy at their shoulder, blocking the view for everyone else in the lounge.

In the conference room, Keyes, Meretseger, Walters and the Jaffa stood frozen in a bizarre tableau. Keyes held a zat gun, and he and Meretseger had been watching as the Jaffa took a grip on Walter's head and held it to her belly. Walters had apparently struggled - her hair had come loose, her sleeve was torn - and her eyes were filled with helpless fear. Keyes turned his burning gaze on the intruders, hissing in fury, while Meretseger looked on them with the same cold contempt that she held for the rest of the world.

Of those in the room, Meretseger was first to react, raising her hand to aim a ribbon device at the doorway. Petrie threw herself at the Goa'uld, knocking her backwards, even as Starsky fired a zat blast into the Jaffa. The sine-wave energy burst struck the Jaffa in the midriff, sending electricity arcing around her, the Goa'uld in her pouch, and the hapless Walters.

Petrie and Meretseger landed in a heap, but Keyes brought his foot up to connect with Petrie's chin, and knocked the woman flying. Starsky drew a bead on Keyes, but a moment before firing he was jumped from behind by two of the General's protection detail, who bore him to the ground and pinned him there. Amy, her gun half-raised to the General, quickly turned it on Petrie, knowing that the only way to help her friends now was to stay free.

"Sir…" She began. "What's going on?"

Keyes - eyes no longer burning with Goa'uld fire - studied her face, and read the genuine confusion there. "Senator Walters suffered a fit," he explained, reaching down to help Meretseger to her feet. "I don't know what these two were up to, but it surely smacks of treason to me. Have Sergeant Ashenden take the Senator to a cabin so she can lie down, and place these two under arrest. I'll want to question them when we land."

"Yes, sir," Amy replied. Nefera pushed though the doorway to help Senator Walters, and Amy bent to drag Petrie to her feet. As she did so however, Meretseger's eyes lit up with anger, and she struck out at the woman who had dared attack her. The blast from the ribbon device was gentle, as such things went, but it was enough to drag Petrie's arm from Amy's grip.

As the wave struck, a flickering, electrical discharge shot from Petrie's belt, and a small plume of smoke rose from the buckle. Then, without transition, Petrie was gone, leaving Daniel Jackson gasping for breath in her place.

"What the…" whispered one of the airmen.

Keyes began to laugh. "Dr Daniel Jackson," he said, almost sounding pleased to see him. "And who is your friend then?"

Nefera stepped forward and tore away Starsky's belt, shattering the illusion.

"Ah. Colonel O'Neill. And so your friends, Curie and Simpson, must be Major Carter and the shol'va, Teal'c. What a treat that is." Keyes turned to face Amy. "And Amy. Amy, Amy, Amy. You could have gone so far." Amy tried to raise her weapon, but at a signal from Keyes one of her erstwhile command wrestled her arm down and disarmed her. "And now you have to die with your friends."

"You're insane!" Amy spat at Keyes.

"I think he knows that," Daniel told her, weakly.

"Take them away!" Keyes ordered, angrily. "And keep them separate for now."

Meretseger turned to Keyes as the soldiers left. "What now, Lord?" She asked.

"Check on Echidnae," he ordered, in the voice of a Goa'uld. "We shall proceed with the implantation as soon as she is strong enough."

Meretseger bowed. "Yes, Lord."

"Nefera." Keyes turned to Nefera. "When you are done with Walters, keep a close eye on Backley. Even his feeble wit must start to smell a rat soon, but he is still useful to us."

"Yes, Lord," Nefera answered, stooping to lift Walters. Out of sight behind the Senator's limp body, she still held Jack O'Neill's belt.

 

In the cockpit, the pilot was surprised by the arrival of General Keyes himself.

"Sir…"

"Give me the radio," Keyes ordered. The radio operator stood and allowed the General to take his place.

Keyes sat at the console, setting the frequencies to contact Henry's base and activating the scrambler. "Atum Base, this is Keyes," he said.

"Keyes this is Atum Base," a deep voice responded. After a few moments it added: "Over."

"Inform Mr Henry that we are on schedule, but security has been compromised, and he is to arrest Sergeant Curie and Private Simpson. Is that clear?"

"Affirmative, General Keyes." the man replied. "Over."

*

"They are to be taken alive if possible, but I want them taken," Keyes continued. "That is all."

"Understood. Out." Teal'c sat waiting at the microphone, but despite the failure of the General to sign off, no more came.

"Well; nice to feel wanted," Sam said. "But that was odd. Why would the General completely ignore radio protocol?"

"Perhaps because his message was urgent?"

"All the more reason to be sure it didn't get garbled. And he gave his name over the air, instead of the aircraft call-sign. The man is the head of a nationwide conspiracy; it doesn't seem to fit that he'd ignore basic security measures."

"Regardless, it is as well that we were here to intercept the message."

"Amen to…" Sam held up a hand, as her headset crackled into life.

"Cowboy Two, this is the Ranch," the voice said. "Over." Sam might have joked about Joanne's codewords, but she had to admit that the SGC's weren't much better.

"Ranch, this is Two. Have reason to believe One and Four have been compromised; possibly X also. Over."

"Understood, Two. What is your status? Over."

"Have found the Dragon's Lair, Ranch, but location unknown. Over."

"Stand by." There was a long pause, and Sam knew that the SGC was preparing to triangulate her position. She glanced down, nervously, at the unconscious radio operators, gagged and hog-tied on the floor.

"Cowboy Two, this is Eastwood," General Hammond's voice came on the air. "Do you require assistance? Over."

"Roger that, Eastwood," Sam replied. "Dragon's ETA is unknown, but on arrival a Clown squad is set to make a capture. However, note that there are…" She paused. "Chicks in the Lair."

"Say again, Two. Did you say, 'Chicks'? Over." SG-1's plans had not taken into account the possibility of finding Goa'uld larvae on the base, and so they had not prepared a code for it.

"That is correct, Eastwood. A few hundred Dragon Chicks. Recommend that the Clowns not be allowed to take possession of any of the Chicks. Over." Sam squeezed her eyes shut, praying that the General would understand her.

"Roger that, Two," Hammond replied. "We can have the Cavalry in place in…four hours. We'll do our best to cut that down; meantime do what you can. Over."

"Roger, Eastwood. Two out." Sam signed off. Then she unplugged their scrambler from the radio shack's boards. "Four hours," she told Teal'c. "They'll miss these guys long before that."

"Then perhaps we should return underground, and seek a way to destroy the…Chicks."

_*_

A little over an hour after the capture of Jack O'Neill, Daniel Jackson and Amy Kawalsky, the 747 touched down on the specially constructed runway at Atum Base. The former General Keyes descended the stairs from the plane with Meretseger and Nefera at his heels, to be met by Henry and Lieutenant Carlson. Behind him, the somewhat depleted bodyguard brought their rebel members, while one of them helped the still-groggy Walters, the other the inebriated Backley.

"Mr Henry," Keyes greeted his associate. "Would you be so good as to place these fine fellows under guard for me?"

"Of course, General," Henry replied. He signalled to Colonel Monroe, and five of his black-clad soldiers came forward to take charge of the prisoners and lead them away to the detention block. "The remainder of your detail are in the conference building," Henry informed Keyes.

Keyes nodded, and turned to his men. "Fall out men. You've done a fine days work. All y'all join your comrades in the conference block." Nefera fought not to roll her eyes at Typhon's almost farcical attempt to copy the General's lugubrious Southern charm. "All y'all'll be summoned when needed. Lieutenant Carlson; see that the Senator is made comfortable, and that Mr Backley finds the bar, will you."

"Yes sir."

Gratefully, the tired soldiers surrendered their posts to Monroe's guards, and when they were gone, the General's eyes lit with the Goa'uld fire. Meretseger leaned towards Keyes, drawn, moth-like, to the power that radiated from him.

"My Lord Typhon," Henry greeted the Goa'uld with a bow. "Lady Meretseger. Mistress Nefera, I presume?"

"Master Henry," Nefera returned, with a small curtsey. "It is a pleasure to meet you at last. I have heard so much about you."

"All of it good, I trust?"

"Not all," Nefera replied with a faint smile. "Is it true that Amaunet blamed you for her husband's defeat by the Tau'ri and ordered her Ashrak, Mafdet to kill you?"

Henry laughed. "If it is true, it can not say much for this Mafdet's skill. Any assassin that Amaunet sent after me must surely be considered to have failed by now." He smiled. "Of course, such an outcome would have been inevitable. The Goa'uld have yet to find a method of disposing of my people, and so long as that remains the case, they may send as many Ashrak after me as they can train."

"Is everything in order?" Typhon demanded impatiently, his Goa'uld voice retaining traces of the General's southern drawl. Ashenden fell silent and bowed her head.

"Absolutely, my Lord," Henry assured him, addressing him as though Nefera had ceased to exist.

Typhon nodded, pleased. "Excellent." Without thinking, he drew out one of the General's fat cigars, and struck the dragon lighter. Henry flinched, which Nefera noted with interest.

"There is…was, one problem," Henry admitted.

"Yes?" Typhon asked, dangerously.

"General Keyes' aide, Kennedy, was an NID saboteur. She attempted to destroy the fighters, but has been apprehended and detained."

Typhon nodded his approval. "If she was sent to cripple our defences, they may plan to launch an attack. Prepare the defence field, just in case." He laughed, suddenly. "Poor Keyes," he said. "So paranoid; so fearful of betrayal, yet he surrounded himself with traitors. Kennedy, Kawalsky; even our own beloved Nefera." Nefera blushed at the compliment.

"You had no difficulty capturing Curie and Simpson?" Meretseger asked.

"Curie and Simpson?" Henry echoed, baffled.

*

After some time examining the remains of the Asyut Complex, Sam and Teal'c managed to find their way to the armoury of Atum Base. The building was a small, squat bunker, heavily guarded on the outside, but the exit from the Complex was inside, and so gaining entry was child's play. The alarm and camera systems were highly sophisticated but, like the guards, were all intended to detect intruders entering the building.

There were two main rooms in the armoury building. The first had a simple metal door, and was packed with well-ordered small-arms, rifles and personnel ordnance. The second had a far heavier door, secured with a magnetic lock. There was a keypad for entering an access code, which Sam and Teal'c obviously did not have, and the door looked as though it was wired with a secondary alarm.

"That must be where the heavier ordnance is," Sam said. "There's not much chance of us taking out the whole hangar with the stuff in there," she added, gesturing to the first room.

"I concur, Major Carter," Teal'c replied, lifting down a clipboard from beside the door. "Is there any chance of blowing open this door?"

"One of Joanne's charges might do the trick," Sam said. "But to be honest I have no idea how powerful they are. For all I know we could set off everything inside trying to open the door. That'd probably do the trick, right enough, but it's a less than ideal scenario."

"You are more correct that you know, Major Carter," Teal'c agreed. He showed her the clipboard, which held an inventory for the room.

"Rocket launchers, mines, missiles; 30mm-cannon…I don't know where he got all this stuff, but Henry's stockpiled enough weapons to wage a small war."

"I do not believe that direct conflict is his goal however," Teal'c replied, indicating a particular line of the inventory."

"What is bresha?" Sam asked.

"It is a weapon of mass destruction, used by the Goa'uld in the punishment of worlds where the population have angered them. It is introduced into the atmosphere and drinking water, and results in the death of all humans on the planet, while leaving Goa'uld and Jaffa unharmed. When I was the First Prime of Apophis, I saw the effects of the weapon on a world whose people had burned the temple of Ra in their capital. The death it brings is slow and agonising."

Sam was appalled. "How does it kill?" She asked, gripped by a horrid fascination.

"Those affected are gripped by fever and pains. They grow weak in body, and are afflicted with infection and swelling. Weight loss and fatigue follow."

"Hardening of the glands?" Sam asked. Teal'c nodded. "Lesions? Bleeding? Fungal and yeast infections?" Teal'c raised an eyebrow. "A whitish growth," Sam clarified.

"You have seen bresha used before?" Teal'c asked.

"Not bresha," Sam replied. "AIDS. Acquired Immune Deficiency Syndrome. It's a disease that causes the failure of the human immune system. If bresha does the same thing - attacks the immune system - that would explain why Hosts and Jaffa are immune."

"The Goa'uld acts as their body's immune system," Teal'c said, understanding.

"If he's got bresha here…"

"Then he must intend to use it," Teal'c finished.

Sam's eyes widened in horror. "Holy Hannah," she whispered. "They're going to release the bresha into an area's water supply, so that the population begins to suffer the AIDS symptoms."

Teal'c nodded, his thinking in line with hers. "Then the conspiracy will offer a symbiote to those who will support them."

"Their friends live and grow strong."

"Their enemies die, without their ever having to raise a hand to them."

"They take control of the United States that way," Sam continued. "They've crippled the economy, but that doesn't matter because they have off-world supply sources, and a Jaffa army with weapons that can assure supremacy over a numerically superior foe."

"And once the Tau'ri have lost control of their Stargate, they can bring their motherships without fear of counter-attack."

"What about the Protected Planets Treaty?" Sam asked, and then answered herself. "But that doesn't apply if the humans in control of Earth asked the Goa'uld to come here." She turned to her friend. "Teal'c; is there a way to dispose of bresha?"

"It becomes inert after several days exposure to oxygen," Teal'c replied. "It was designed to leave a world fit for recolonisation. I believe that it can also be destroyed by extreme heat, but little short of a fuel-air explosive, a thermite charge or an atomic weapon would suffice."

"Does Henry have any of those, I wonder."

"If so, they are not listed on this inventory."

Sam walked over to the window, and peered around the base. "We have to get back to the radio and warn General Hammond," she said. "If the cavalry arrive and put a missile into this …" She broke off.

"Major Carter?"

"The plane, Teal'c! The plane!" Teal'c joined her at the window. Sure enough, there was the 747, sitting still and isolated on the distant runway.

"They must have landed while we were underground," Sam realised. "And if Colonel O'Neill and Daniel haven't contacted us yet, then they've definitely run into trouble."

*

"I love it when a plan falls apart," Amy said, trying to keep the note of despondency from her voice. She, Jack and Daniel had been thrown into the gloomy detention cell and left there.

"Huh?"

"You never watched the A-Team, Jack?" Daniel asked.

"Not much," Jack admitted. "I could never take it seriously; all that making a grenade launcher out of six-foot of rusty pipe and a potato: Just seemed too far fetched."

"Look on the bright side. At least you didn't get beaten up."

"Is there someone else in here with us?" Jack asked.

"JF?" Amy asked.

"Hey, Ames," Joanne replied, moving out of the corner and into the light.

"Lieutenant Kennedy, right?" Jack asked.

"Doctor Joanne Freemont-Kingsley; NID."

Now it was Amy's turn to say: "Huh?"

"Sorry, Ames," she said. "I'm not quite what I said I was."

Amy shrugged. "Lot of that going around," she admitted. "Did you know Ashenden was a Goa'uld agent?"

Joanne shook her head. "Found out about those two friends of yours though," she said. "They came down here and worked me over for a bit after Henry caught me."

"Worked you over?" Jack asked.

"Well, pretended to. Although if you ever do an SGC staff play, don't give Major Carter a fight scene," she added, wincing.

"So they weren't caught then?" Daniel asked, concerned.

"Daniel Jackson? I've heard a lot about you." She winked at Amy, causing the other woman to blush. "Last I saw they were free to come and go. All other things being equal, they should have got access to the old research facility underneath this one, so they should still be loose. Besides; if they'd caught them they'd have put them in here."

At that moment, the locks clanged, and the door swung open.

"You had to say it," Jack accused, but it was not the guards bringing Teal'c and Sam.

"You!" Joanne exclaimed.

"Ashenden?" Amy was just as startled.

Jack stepped in front of his comrades. "If you've come to torture us, you should know I make it policy to always go first. These two" - he indicated Amy and Daniel - "seem to enjoy it too much."

"I am not here to torture anyone, Colonel O'Neill," Nefera assured him. "I am here to set you free."

"You mind if I question your motives?"

Daniel stepped forward. "It's okay Jack," he promised. "We can trust her. At least as far as the end of this mission."

"How so?" Jack demanded. "And please; let it be more than just a feeling."

"It's one of the memories that Astarte left in my head," he replied, drawing a shiver from Amy. "Nefera. One of Amaunet's handmaidens, who became her agent in Apophis' conspiracy."

"So the fact that she used to serve not one, but two of the Goa'uld whom we have killed, makes you trust her?"

"Well, actually three if you count Apophis himself," Daniel corrected. "Although death never really seems to take with him."

"I was given a task to perform, and I intend to see it through," Nefera assured Jack. "As I explained to Daniel, your team provides me with an excellent opportunity. Now we must hurry. The guards will not remain unconscious forever, and I may be missed if I am gone too long."

Jack stayed where he was, glowering.

"Jack," Daniel said, gently. "Whether we can trust her or not, we can't really end up anywhere worse than where we are now. I mean, if they wanted to execute us, they could just walk in and do it."

Jack cocked his head on one side, and looked back at his friend. "Point," he conceded. "Okay, whatever-your-name-is; let's go."

Nefera led the four of them past the unconscious guards - the duty officer and a second man. On the floor beside them was a large carry-all, which she opened. "I kept this," she said, handing O'Neill his cloaking belt. "I do not know if it will be of any use to you."

"It might," O'Neill allowed, taking the device from her.

"Also, uniforms for the four of you. The security force is small, so you had best avoid close contact with the real guards, but from a distance you should convince."

"We'll manage," Joanne replied. "I know this base pretty well."

Jack and Daniel's commando fatigues were similar enough to the security force uniforms that it seemed irrelevant to change, but Joanne and Amy quickly donned the black uniforms, while the others kept watch. Nefera had also brought a zat for each of them, and Jack relieved the guards of their sidearms.

"What do you know about this plan?" Daniel asked Nefera, while they waited. "Call me an old cynic, but I get the feeling General Keyes didn't know the half of it."

"I did not know the half of it," Nefera replied, sounding offended by the fact.

"It bothers you they didn't trust you?" Jack asked.

"Should it not?"

"Well, you are in the act of betraying them right now."

Nefera just scowled in response, and continued with her account. "I know now that they intend for General Keyes and Senator Walters to become hosts to Typhon - one of Apophis' under-Lords - and his queen, Echidnae. The first part of this plan was accomplished, but you interrupted the second and Echidnae must be given time to recover before she will have the strength to make another attempt to possess Walters as a host."

"And then what?" Jack demanded. "Surely they don't just plan to run for government on the snakehead ticket."

"Hardly. I do not know how they intend to take over, but fundamentally they will follow the scheme laid out by Meretseger, to remove Earth from the Protected Planets Treaty and take control. I know only that Typhon refers to this place as the Benben."

"The what?" Jack asked.

"The sacred, primordial mound," Daniel answered. "The place where the world began. It sounds like Typhon rather fancies himself as the creator of a new world."

"Typhon is the representative of Apophis, but Henry is the one responsible for setting this up." Nefera told them. "He has been present on your planet since the beginning, working to bring this about."

"When you say, from the beginning…?" Joanne asked, closing the last fastener on her jacket.

"Since the death of Ra, or shortly after. He travelled to Earth through the second Stargate to begin working against you."

"The second Gate was in the Antarctic," Jack reminded her. How did he survive?"

"Henry is not human," Nefera explained. "He is of a race called the Kalica; they are very scarce now, but they aid the Goa'uld in their efforts to battle the Asgard and the Tok'ra and oppress the Tau'ri."

Jack was baffled. "And why would they do this?"

"Because they fear humans more than the Goa'uld. When the Tau'ri first buried the Earth Stargate, a Kalica mystic prophesied that the Tau'ri would one day rise from their home and set the heavens ablaze. The Kalica took this to mean that if humans ever managed to leave the Earth, they would spread destruction across the galaxy; and so they set out to prevent this ever happening.

"The Kalica are…extremely resilient. They can withstand a staff weapon blast, are unaffected by zat'nik'tel discharges and are capable of withstanding substantial impact and cutting trauma."

"Substantial…?" Jack asked.

"I understand that Henry once survived being crushed beneath a falling stone of some six-to-eight tonnes."

"That's substantial."

Nefera nodded. "The Goa'uld have no love of the Kalica, but find it more rewarding to allow them to serve than to attempt the eradication of so small and resilient a population. Amaunet distrusted Henry's influence on her husband, and sent her Ashrak, Mafdet, to kill him. Plainly she did not succeed."

Jack shivered. "Ashraks. Hate them."

"How did Meretseger get here?" Amy asked.

"She has a ship," Nefera replied. "Small, armed, and cloaked; in orbit above this base now." She checked her watch. "I must go," she said. "I will meet with you in half an hour; to discuss your plans if you have made any."

"Okay," Jack agreed. "Where?"

"The conference building basement," Joanne said. "It's out of the way, and I know how to get there without being seen."

"Very well," Nefera replied. "Good luck."

 

As soon as Nefera had gone, Jack unclipped one of the sections of his belt, and removed the small field radio from its hidden compartment. He had not wanted to use the device while Nefera was around, since he still did not trust her. He also abandoned the rest of the belt; just in case the woman had attached any kind of homing device.

"Cowboy Two, this is One; do you read?"

There was a moment of static, before Sam's voice broke through. "Loud and clear, sir. We were beginning to worry."

"Things looked a little hairy for a minute, but we're footloose and fancy-free again now. Where can we find you."

"Well, sir; we're in an old research complex underneath the base."

Joanne signalled for O'Neill to give her the radio.

"Someone here wants a word," Jack told Sam, then handed it over.

"Major Carter," Joanne said. "Go to the entrance marked '3'. It's a hatch leading into an electrical tunnel behind the detention building. We'll need you to open that one from the inside. We'll meet you there."

"Okay," Sam agreed. "Door number three it is."

*

"Good to see you, Colonel," Sam said as Jack descended the short ladder into the Asyut Complex. "Glad you all made it."

"Let's not count our chickens just yet," Jack cautioned. "But it's good to see you too. Teal'c," he added, greeting the Jaffa.

"We have problems, sir," Sam reported, grimly.

"That's certainly true," Daniel agreed.

"So you know about the larvae?" Sam asked.

"Larvae?"

Sam explained what she and Teal'c had discovered in the large hangar and the armoury, and Jack added what they had learned from Nefera.

"So Keyes was just a stooge?" Sam asked. "Almost makes me feel sorry for the guy."

"Don't," Jack told her. "If you get twinges, just remember why we had to disguise Teal'c as a white guy to get him on the detail."

"One thing I don't understand," Daniel said. "Even if Typhon had five thousand Jaffa, if he poisoned any civic water supply in the country, he'd run out of larvae, even if only one in ten people came over to him."

"What if it wasn't a civic supply?" Joanne suggested.

Jack looked at her, curiously. "Meaning?"

"Well, this base is on its own supply. So are most strategic bases."

"Including the SGC!" Sam realised. "It's on the same supply as NORAD."

"And a four star Air Force General probably wouldn't have any trouble getting a package into NORAD," Jack added, following the reasoning. "And then Typhon replaces anyone who won't play his game, and bingo! He's got NORAD and the SGC. Son of a…" He turned and kicked the corridor wall.

"So what do we do?" Amy asked.

"Okay," Jack said. "Order of business. Stage one: get to the armoury, and get some bigger guns. Stage two: take out the Goa'uld larvae in the small hangar. Typhon has no larvae, he has no plan.

Joanne raised a hand. "I may have an idea for that."

"Great. Stage three: we call the marines, and make sure they aren't going to put a missile in the armoury. Stage four: we cut off Typhon's escape routes; that means the 747 and the transport rings in the large hangar, as well as Meretseger's spaceship. It might also be nice if we can take care of those gliders before the cavalry arrives. Stage five: we take out the bresha and all go home for milk and cookies." Jack looked around at his comrades. "Any questions?" There were no takers. "Comments?" That got more response. "Okay, Doc," he told Joanne. "You start."

Joanne nodded, and turned towards Teal'c. "The tanks where the larvae are stored; do they need to be heated?"

"They will be maintained at approximately human body temperature," Teal'c replied. "If the temperature were to fall below that, it would risk injury to the prim'ta."

"Good. I think I know a way to shut down the base electronics for at least ten minutes," she told Jack. That should also crack the magnetic seal on the armoury door," she added. "As well as shutting down the security systems. I'll need help though; Major Carter and probably Teal'c as well."

"What are you planning?" Jack asked.

"Most of the machinery in the Asyut Complex was left intact when the facility was abandoned. If I can get it running, I can generate an EMP that will wipe out the base. I don't know if it'll affect the transport rings or the fighters though."

"The 747's built like Air Force One," Jack added. "So it'll probably be hardened against EMP. But if it's big and close enough, a pulse should take out the rest of the base. Okay; Carter, Teal'c, you're with the doctor. Daniel; you're up next."

"Asyut…?" He began, addressing Joanne, but at a cough from Jack he brought his attention back to the task in hand. "Our best chance of taking out the ship is probably Nefera. Plus, if we can get up there and seize it, that might give us a way to take care of the fighters and the 747."

"You want to steal a spaceship?"

"Tell me you wouldn't enjoy it?" Daniel challenged. "Anyway, if nothing else, I'd hate to deny Sam the chance to study it."

"It's true, sir. I've been wanting to get my hands on a substantial chunk of Goa'uld technology like this for a while; especially something with a hyperdrive."

Jack nodded. "Okay. Sounds like fun. Amy, Daniel, you're with me. Carter, that leaves you in charge of making the radio call."

"We should be able to do that from the Asyut Complex as well," Joanne promised.

"Excuse me," Daniel said. "But 'Asyut'? Is that as in the city?"

"That's right."

"Centre of the cult of Wepwawet?" Joanne nodded.

"Who's Wepwawet?" Jack asked, knowing he would regret it.

"The Opener of the Ways," Daniel replied. "Funerary deity, war god and guardian of travellers."

"And also a Goa'uld shipbuilder," Teal'c added.

"That's nice for him," Jack said. "Let's get going?" He said. "If that's okay with you, Daniel?"

"Hmm? Oh. Sure. Yeah."

 

"Bigger guns," Daniel said, as they entered the armoury room.

"Hallelujah," Jack pronounced. "Okay people, keep it simple. Grab something big and meaty and a whole bunch of ammo. Don't get carried away."

"Look at this stuff," Amy breathed. "This isn't some black-market arsenal; some of these things are state of the art."

"The very last word in brutal killing," Daniel agreed, distastefully.

"You wanted to come," Jack reminded him.

"What the hell are these things?" Amy asked, examining a strange-looking, bulky carbine.

"M37-A caseless rifles," Sam replied. "Leave them." She handed Amy a P-90 instead.

There was a rack of zat'nik'tels, and Teal'c helped himself to a second. "I am less well trained in the use of Tau'ri weapons," he reminded them. "In the absence of a staff weapon, these will suffice."

"Hey big guy!" Joanne tossed Teal'c a squat cylinder.

"What is this?" The Jaffa asked.

"Rocket-propelled grenade," she replied, slinging a second tube over her shoulder. "Could come in handy if they try to get those fighters airborne. Careful with it though; these things have an HEAP warhead with a twenty milligram secondary naquadah charge."

"Okay; is everybody done?" Jack asked. Everyone nodded. "Great. Doc, you're with me; the rest of you wait outside a second." Less than a minute later, Jack and Joanne followed the others from the room. "Just a little surprise for any of our friends if they try to tool up and come after us."

"Booby traps?" Sam asked.

Jack put a finger to the tip of his nose, and pointed at her in acknowledgement. "Nothing that'll take the bresha tanks out, but it'll slow them down a little."

The six of them descended into the tunnels of the Asyut Complex.

Jack turned to Sam. "Once you've done whatever you do down here, you and Teal'c head to the surface and cause as much mayhem as you can manage without getting killed."

"Yes, sir," Sam acknowledged.

"Hey, Ames," Joanne called out. "You take care up there."

"You take care down here, JF…or Joanne."

"JF's fine," Joanne assured her with a smile. "It's what they called me at school. Joanne Freemont-Kingsley; JFK."

"Nice," Amy said. "I'm glad you're not one of the bad guys," she added.

"Likewise." Joanne turned to Daniel and Jack. "You fellas look out for her," she instructed.

"As much as she lets us," Jack promised. He turned to Sam. "Good luck, Major Carter."

"Good luck, Colonel."

"Teal'c."

"Ral tora ke, Colonel O'Neill, Daniel Jackson, Amy Kawalsky."

There was a long, pregnant pause.

"Anyone think of any way to make this feel even more funereal?" Jack asked. "No? Okay; then let's get to work."

*

After leaving the others, Sam and Teal'c followed Joanne to the door marked with Wepwawet's symbol.

"This door's locked," Sam said.

"Give me the key," Joanne told her.

Sam handed it over, not certain what good it could do without a keyhole. Joanne took the key, and poked it into the eye of the Wepwawet head. A small panel moved reluctantly aside, allowing Joanne to insert and turn the key. With a clunk, the lock opened, and Joanne pushed the protesting doors aside.

"Welcome to the Wepwawet Project," she said.

*

Nefera was plainly startled to find Jack, Daniel and Amy already waiting for her in the conference building basement. Obviously, she knew nothing of the Asyut Complex's existence. She was still wearing her Air Force dress uniform, and carrying a heavy hold-all.

"We don't have much time," she told them. "Meretseger is returning to the ship, and I am to go with her."

"She's leaving?" Jack asked.

"No. But Echidnae was injured, and was already weakened by travelling in a Jaffa's pouch while fully grown. Meretseger wants to take her to the ship to receive proper attention before attempting the transfer again."

"What about Walters?"

"Walters and Backley are being held in this building, along with General Keyes security detail. A few of them are growing suspicious at the General's behaviour, but Lieutenant Carlson appears to have fallen in behind the new and improved Keyes and is encouraging the others to do the same."

"Figures," Amy muttered.

"Also, they know that you have escaped, and that your friends managed to send a signal from the radio shack." She looked them over. "They have doubled the guard on all key points, including the armoury. I take it they were too late," she added.

"Apparently," Jack replied.

"Well, just in case I have brought some weapons for you." She set the hold-all down on the floor.

Daniel opened the bag and looked inside. "A flame-thrower?" He said, dubiously.

"As I said. Just in case. I must go back now; we will leave in ten minutes. You should follow us, and transport a further ten minutes after we depart."

"Sure thing," Jack replied. "You betcha."

Nefera frowned. "You have a better idea, Colonel? Or are you just griping?"

"No, and no; I don't trust you."

"Nor I you," Nefera returned, simply. "Transport five minutes after we do." Then she turned and left.

"I guess working for the Goa'uld, some of that arrogance rubbed off on her," Daniel mused.

"I guess," Jack replied. He took out his radio. "Cowboy Two, this is One," he said.

"Go ahead, One." Sam's voice crackled.

"Some of Keyes security detail are being held in the conference building, along with Senator Walters and Richard Backley. If you're feeling persuasive, you could try and get some of them to help you create your diversion."

"Okay, One. We'll give it a shot."

"How're things going down there?" Jack asked.

"Well, sir…They're certainly interesting."

_*_

"So what were they researching down here?" Sam asked, putting away the radio.

"Wormhole physics," Joanne replied. "That's why I need your help?" She was lying on her back, with her head inside a wall panel. "Ah-ha!" She cried, triumphantly, and a throb of power ran through the darkened control room. Seconds later, lights flickered on.

"Oh my God," Sam whispered. It looks like…"

"The Stargate control room," Joanne confirmed. It was true. Sure, there were more reel-to-reel tape banks in this room, and the computers were all far older, but the layout was the same. There was even an observation window, although the glass had apparently fallen out, and the space was filled by the blast door. "When they reactivated the Stargate Programme, they based a number of the technologies on lessons learned in the course of the Wepwawet Project."

"And what was the Wepwawet Project?" Sam asked.

"After the failures of the initial wartime Programme, the NID's forerunners were set the task of devising for the United States government an alternative means of wormhole travel, which it was possible to control."

"You're telling me that the Government threw millions of dollars into creating a new Stargate, instead of getting the old one to work?"

"That's pretty much the size of it," Joanne replied. "They believed that the Stargate was old and essentially derelict, which was why it was buried."

"The Stargate was buried to prevent the return of Ra and his armies," Sam reminded her.

"Yes," Joanne agreed. "We know that now, and suspected it then, but their reasoning was that if they couldn't make it work, then obviously it was completely fubarred. They were politicians, not scientists, and they were working on a way to use wormhole travel in warfare. They didn't want to visit the stars; they just wanted to drop bombs out of holes in the sky."

"So how far did the project get before they closed it down?" Sam asked.

"They created what they believed to be a stable event horizon," Joanne replied.

"What?" Sam was incredulous. "But until the Stargate was successfully activated, creating a wormhole event horizon was pure theory! Everyone accepted Kingsley's arguments that…" She tailed off.

"Dr Lloyd Kingsley," Joanne confirmed. "My father. He defied his own arguments, and achieved the impossible. He'd have loved to read your work."

"But Kingsley wasn't a military scientist," Sam argued.

"He was interested in the Gate's potential for mass cargo transportation and possible passenger use," Joanne replied. "But more importantly, it was a chance to work with the theories; to put his life's study into practice. I guess you'd understand that?"

"Yeah," Sam admitted. "I guess I do. So what went wrong?"

"It turned out that the event horizon was not as stable as they thought," Joanne explained, gravely. "When they tried to send a cargo shipment through, it collapsed, and shot a quantum vortex fifty feet in advance of the gate. Dad was in the launch bay; he was killed instantly as the wave engulfed him. The observation window shattered, killing two of his colleagues and fatally wounding three more. NID sealed the lab; shut it down so fast they left everything in here, and buried the truth. When I started working for them, I dug it up again.

"They never told anyone on the Wepwawet Project that the Stargate even existed," she added, bitterly. "They gave them some naquadah fragments recovered from the Wewelsburg after the war to work with, which made success a possibility, but they never told Dad that a working Gate existed. They achieved so much, and then it killed them."

"I'm…I'm sorry," Sam told her. "I had no idea. I never agreed with a lot of your father's theories, but his work was what sparked my interest in wormhole theory," she offered.

Joanne smiled, thinly, on the verge of tears. "I'm sorry for being a drip," she said.

"It's okay," Sam assured her. "My mother died when I was very young; I know how hard it can be."

Joanne nodded her thanks for the support. "My mother killed herself not long after my father died. It ate her up that they never told her how it happened. Dad's sister took care of me. I spent a few years blowing things up…"

"Blowing things up?"

"After my parents died I became something of a tearaway. There was no body, you see, and I was eight, so I had a really hard time getting to grips with the fact Dad was really gone. But I knew Dad had been killed in an explosion, so I started blowing things up. I'd always stand as close as I knew was safe," she added. "Hoping I'd have made a bad calculation, and that it would kill me so I could be with him again."

"That's…terrible," Sam whispered.

Joanne shrugged. "I calmed down after about five years, but I kept building bombs as a hobby. After that, I decided to follow in Dad's footsteps. The NID hired me as a researcher after I finished my doctorate in wormhole theory, but with the Stargate Programme in a permanent holding pattern, they figured my hobby was a more useful talent and put me on field work as a saboteur.

"Then in '94 they pulled me back to the lab to analyse your work on the Stargate. I stayed there until I noticed someone was messing with the old Asyut Complex, which is how NID caught on to Keyes' little conspiracy. Although until I managed to win his trust, we had no idea the Goa'uld were involved." After a pause, she added: "How's Teal'c doing?"

Carter took out her radio. "Three, this is Two," she said. "You okay down there?"

"I am well, Cowboy Two," Teal'c replied, his voice broken up by interference. "Although not comfortable."

"Well, you're not dying, which is an advance on how Joanne or I would be," Sam reminded him.

"I am aware of that, Cowboy Two," Teal'c acknowledged. "I have almost completed my task. If the systems between the power plant and the Complex are still functional, you should regain main power in a few minutes."

The Asyut Complex had been powered by a small nuclear reactor; apparently one of the reasons that the base had been of interest to the conspirators. The reactor had of course been shut down when the base was sealed, but never dismantled, and Henry had brought it back on line to power the transport rings and construction facilities on the base. In order to reactivate the Wepwawet Project, Joanne had needed several connections remade in the area beneath the core, and with the Jaffa's superior radiation resistance, he had been the only one capable of entering that area safely.

With a series of chirrups and clicking relays, the computer panels in the control room lit up.

"We're in business," Joanne said, sitting down at one of the stations. "I'm running a system check to make sure everything still works."

"Then what do we do?" Sam asked, looking over the other woman's shoulder as figures and status indicators scrolled across an orange-on-black monochrome screen.

"We do the same thing my father did to cause an EMP burst that shut down the entire base." She turned to look Sam in the eye. "We create an unstable event horizon, and we throw something into it."

*

Amy and Daniel walked casually towards the large hangar, doing their level best to look like they belonged. Five of Henry's soldiers stood watch. About a minute ago, Meretseger's party had passed through the door, with the Jaffa carrying Typhon's consort looking as though she were about to expire at any moment.

"Halt," the lead sentry challenged, raising his M37-A, threateningly. "Who're you?"

"We're new," Daniel replied. "We arrived with Lord Typhon."

"A likely story," the guard replied. "Weapons down, slowly."

"Okay," Amy said, laying her P-90 carefully on the floor. "But you're making a mistake."

A zat blast caught the lead sentry and he fell. Amy shoved Daniel aside as the M37-A went off, releasing enough lead to drop a small elephant. She and Daniel rolled to their feet and raised their zats, blasting two more sentries, while Jack accounted for the other two from his post behind the corner of the hangar.

"Well, that went well," Daniel said. "I'm sure no-one knows we just did that."

"Quit griping," Jack said, running up to them with the hold-all on his shoulder. He took a keycard from the lead sentry and swiped it through the lock. "We'll be gone before they get here."

Gunfire rattled off the hangar walls around them.

"Oh yeah," Daniel agreed. "Long gone."

"Well," Amy noted, as they returned fire. "It's his fault for keeping his finger on the trigger. That's just sloppy soldiering."

The door opened, and Jack darted through. "Go!" He called back, firing a couple of covering blasts as Amy and Daniel ducked after him. Jack slammed the door, and fired a zat blast into the controls.

"Uh…Jack," Daniel called.

"I saw 'em," Jack confirmed. There were more guards inside the hangar, in the shadows of the two fighters, which looked like hybrids of an F-15 and a Goa'uld death glider. The guards were hurrying towards the sound of gunfire, but did not yet seem to have registered that the three soldiers by the door were not among their number. "Transport rings; go."

The rings stood not far from the door, in a crude scaffold built to support them in their raised and deactivated position. A control panel stood next to the scaffold, and next to that a glass-topped case containing three activation bracers, and space for three more.

"It's locked, or sealed, or something," Amy said, tugging at the case. It proved similarly unyielding to a zat blast.

"Wait!" Daniel said, stooping beside the case and lifting a bracer from underneath it.

"Good old Nefera," Jack allowed.

The three of them stepped underneath the rings as the door was finally opened, and the guards outside pointed frantically in their direction.

"Bye-bye," Amy called, waving to them, and Daniel pressed down on the gem set into the bracer.

 

In a blaze of light, Daniel, Jack and Amy materialised in a small chamber on the Goa'uld ship; or it certainly looked like a Goa'uld ship.

"Wouldn't you feel silly if it hadn't worked?" Jack said to Amy.

"Well, briefly," she allowed. "And then maybe I'd feel dead."

"This is…different," Daniel noted. The chamber did not look quite like anything they had seen on any Goa'uld Ha'tak vessel. For one thing, it was smaller, with a low, slightly curved roof. The decoration was much the same; with the sun on them, the walls would have shone like burnished gold, the light creating an impression of limitless space, but in the muted lighting they were grey, flat and oppressive. The chamber was longer than it was wide, and at either end was a closed hatch.

"Let's try…That one!" Jack said, picking a direction.

"Or we could try the other way," Daniel suggested. "Since that door just leads to an escape pod."

"How do you know?" Jack demanded.

"Because the sign above the door says 'escape pod'," Daniel replied. "Although it could be a ruse," he added, charitably.

"I have to stop asking these questions," Jack said. "Okay; this way." They walked back along the chamber, past the rings and up to the second door. "Now how does it open?"

The door slid open, and Nefera stood in the opening. Daniel jumped in alarm, while the two soldiers raised their zats. Nefera stood, unblinking, as the two weapons snapped open in her face.

"You are early," she told them.

"Traffic was good," Jack returned.

"Well; I see you found the device I left for you. Good. Come this way." She led them along a passageway. Strange sounds echoed through the ship, making Jack even more nervous than he already was.

"What kind of ship is this?" Daniel asked.

"It is called a Ha'kal," Nefera replied, almost dreamily. "It was designed at Apophis' orders to carry agents such as Meretseger to distant planets unannounced. Like his new Ha'tak vessels, the Ha'kal is capable of speeds well in excess of those reached by older vessels. It is also equipped with a cloaking device, and enough weapons to launch a respectable strike on an older Ha'tak."

"You sound like you want one," Jack commented.

"It is a beautiful vessel," Nefera replied, simply. Without pausing, she continued: "The peltac is through this door. There are five Jaffa guards, as well as Meretseger, two attendants and Echidnae's Jaffa. That is the full company of the vessel."

Jack nodded, readying his P-90. "Well, since Goa'uld spaceships are usually robust enough to take a little gunfire without rupturing; I say we do this the old-fashioned way."

*

Teal'c manhandled a heavy device into one of the Wepwawet Project's cargo shells. Fired from a hydraulic catapult, these were designed to carry cargo through the wormhole to their destination. The device was a package of signalling equipment, designed to allow the Project team to locate and retrieve the shell, wherever it might emerge; the same load that had been shot through the event horizon in 1974.

"It seems a very strange way to go about such matters," Teal'c admitted. "To launch a cargo through the wormhole when you do not know the destination. Is not the purpose of a wormhole to reach a specific place?"

"Not for my father," Joanne replied, with great fondness. "The wormhole was its own reason for him; he just wanted to see how far he could launch a cargo."

Teal'c shrugged, not getting it. Sam kind of understood, but she had more or less given up on the kind of pure science that Dr Lloyd Kingsley practised when she followed her father into the Air Force.

"It's an incredible achievement," Sam admitted, looking up from the radio set to gaze in awe on the Wepwawet Stargate. It consisted of four naquadah modules, connected in a ring by a hoop of titanium steel, lined inside with more naquadah. The total mass of the Stargate element in the Wepwawet Gate was probably less than that in just one of the chevrons in a device built by the Ancients, which probably accounted for the instability of the wormhole event horizon: Without the energy-storage/amplification properties of a sufficient mass of naquadah, the field which maintained the wormhole would not have the power to maintain the event horizon when it interacted with the magnetic, gravitational and intermolecular forces present in a massive load.

Wires sparked under Sam's hands, and she turned her attention back to repairing the radio.

"He was a genius, my father," Joanne said. "I miss him so much," she added, softly.

Sam looked at the other woman, not certain what to say. In the end she just settled for: "Radio's working."

Joanne nodded. "You want to talk to your people? I assume you called them in."

Sam smiled, wanly. "Our people won't be here for a couple of hours yet," she admitted. "Best you call yours."

"Okay." Joanne stood to swap seats with Sam. "You see if you can get the quantum emitters to align properly. It's fiddly, but you'll get the hang of it."

Sam sat at the main console, and worked on the emitter alignments. Alignment was not a problem on the Stargate, because the Ancients had managed to construct their device with its workings set in the circumference of a perfect circle that never deformed, whatever the external conditions. On the more fallible Wepwawet Gate, even a slight misalignment would prevent a wormhole forming.

Sam marvelled at the incredible sophistication of Dr Kingsley's achievement, and at the same time at the remarkable crudity of the Gate that he had built, when compared to the Giza Stargate.

"Yes," Joanne was saying, irritably. "The goose…Well I didn't make it up. Yeah? And the same to your mother. Over and out. They're on their way," she said, turning to face Sam. "And they'll shoot away from the armoury."

Sam nodded. "Okay. The emitters are aligned."

"Excellent. You and Teal'c better head off and try to get the General's detail out of the conference building before the strike team arrives. Leave me one of your radios, and signal me when you want the pulse."

Sam frowned. "What do you mean, 'signal you'?"

"Would it not be advisable for all of us to be far from here?" Teal'c asked. "Given what happened the last time this experiment was attempted."

"Yeah; that'd be smart," Joanne agreed. "Unfortunately, the Project team didn't build in any way to activate the Wepwawet Gate remotely or by timer, and there's no time to jerry rig one now. I'll have to stay here - or more accurately, in the Gate Room itself - to switch on the emitters and launch the shell into the wormhole."

"That's suicide," Sam protested.

"It's a rational transaction," Joanne replied. "One life for billions. I mean, we're talking about stopping a Goa'uld invasion here, Major."

"Why are you doing this?" Sam asked Joanne.

"She is correct, Major Carter," Teal'c agreed. "It is imperative that Typhon be stopped, and that the Goa'uld larvae here on Earth be destroyed."

"And if not me; then who?"

Sam nodded, sadly. "I just don't like to see people throw their lives away."

"I'm not throwing it away," Joanne assured her. "And it's not much of a life anyway. I haven't had a proper boyfriend since never. The only real friend I've had in years was a woman I lied to about my identity and allegiance every day I knew her; and vice versa." She looked down, sadly. "Say goodbye to Amy for me, won't you?"

Teal'c nodded, once. "We shall tell her that you died well," he promised.

"If it helps…I'm not sure I'll die," Joanne offered, lamely. "See, I have a theory that my Dad wasn't killed by the expanding event horizon; he just went…somewhere else. I mean, sure," she added, talking rapidly to cover her nervousness. "It's a theory I came up with when I was eight, but I did a few theoretical analyses, and it's supportable. If the destabilising event horizon retained sufficient coherence up to the point of crossing, then the matter would enter the wormhole, rather than simply being scattered and destroyed."

"It's pretty slim," Sam told her.

"I know," Joanne admitted, in a small voice. "But I figure, either way…I'll be with him again."

*

The fire fight on the Ha'kal was brief and nasty. The small vessel's peltac was a more confined area than that of a Ha'tak, making the humans' P-90s very deadly indeed. Jack stepped through the door and hosed the room with fire, holding the weapon sideways, to allow its recoil to pull his arm across. Few of the occupants were not hit, and it was easy enough for Daniel and Amy to follow Jack with their zats to subdue those who remained conscious.

"Okay; check 'em," Jack said. "Careful with the Jaffa; they might be ripe."

Meretseger lay still, bleeding from a wound in her side. The Jaffa who housed Echidnae was dead; the Goa'uld lolled lifeless from her pouch, where a stray round had taken it through the head. Three of the Jaffa guards had also been killed; the other two mortally wounded. One of the two attendants, a human girl of perhaps seventeen, had escaped unscathed, but was clearly terrified; her fellow, no older than she, was less fortunate, and had taken a hit through her abdomen. She was bleeding heavily and hyperventilating, and Amy stooped to dress the wound.

Nefera moved to the control console and examined the readings, while Daniel cautiously reached for Meretseger's pulse and Jack disarmed the Jaffa.

"Mai'tac!" Nefera swore. There was a loud pop from the controls, and black smoke poured from under the panel.

Jack, Daniel and Amy looked up, startled, and Meretseger chose that moment to move. Quick as a snake, she planted her hand in Daniel's chest, and a wave of force from her ribbon device blasted him backwards into Jack.

With surprising agility, considering her injury, she leaped to her feet and sprinted away down the main corridor of the ship. Jack struggled up from underneath Daniel and ran off after her. Swearing, Amy caught the uninjured servant by the hand and showed her where to apply pressure to her comrade's wound, before following the Colonel.

 

Jack ducked behind a half-pillar and hugged the side of the corridor to avoid a blast from the ribbon device. Meretseger had gained a jump on him, but she was hurt and bleeding, and firing the weapon would tax her strength further. He held his weapon out from cover and fired a burst of shots in Meretseger's direction. When there was no return fire, he stepped out and gave chase.

He burst into the transport room, and threw himself down as another shockwave rolled over him. At the far end of the chamber, Meretseger was scrambling through the escape pod hatch. A trail of blood ran back across the room and down the corridor, and the Goa'uld had lost most of the grace and economy of motion she had earlier displayed. Amy joined Jack, and both fired after the retreating figure. The hatch closed behind her, but Jack was certain they had at least got a few shots past the door; if not into the Goa'uld herself.

Beneath them, Jack felt the ship shudder, and he and Amy ran back to the control room.

 

Nefera frantically worked the smoking controls of the Ha'kal, while Daniel lay unconscious.

"What just happened?" Jack demanded.

"The escape ship has just been launched," Nefera replied.

"Can you shoot it down?" Jack asked.

Nefera shook her head. "I can not."

"I thought you said this thing could bring down a pyramid ship?"

"With its cloaking device and armament it would stand a fair chance against an older model of Ha'tak, I said," Nefera corrected. "But to hit a small escape ship would require a skilled gunner, and besides, your reckless firing has damaged the controls. The engines, let alone the weapons, will barely respond to the peltac. Besides," she added, pointing out through the viewing window. "It is too late."

Jack followed her finger, and saw a small shape suddenly blur and vanish.

"We got her," Amy protested. "I know we did."

"It is possible," Nefera admitted. "Once there was someone within, the escape vessel would automatically launch, and be guided back to the Ha'kal's home planet by a recall device."

"Oh. One of those things," Jack muttered.

"Well; even if you killed her, she could be revived by a sarcophagus," Daniel commented, his voice pained as he dragged himself slowly and unsteadily to his feet.

"I hate it when they do that," Jack told him. "It's inconsiderate. How you doing there, Danny?"

"I'm in a great deal of pain," Daniel replied. "I don't think anything's broken, but pretty much everything's bruised."

"While I hate to detract from your suffering, Daniel," Nefera interjected. "We have greater problems."

Jack gave no answer, just cocked his head, with an air of inquiry.

"With the damage to the controls, the Ha'kal is beginning to lose altitude. At the current rate, it will fall out of orbit in approximately seven hours, and impact the Earth's surface somewhere in southern-central Canada."

"Just tell me," Jack said, warily. "How bad are we talking about?"

"The crash will obliterate everything for perhaps ten miles in the line of impact, and throw up debris that will cause destruction over an area maybe twice that in diameter. There are munitions and oxygen tanks, but the blast will probably not destroy anything more than the impact; perhaps less than a three-mile radius."

"So not so bad?" Jack hazarded.

Nefera gave him a rueful look. "The Ha'kal's primary power source is a naquadah reactor," she said. "I can lock the reactor down, but when the ship hits ground, at that speed the shield around the core will crumple like paper, and the naquadah will magnify the explosion." She drew a breath and looked Jack in the eye. "The resulting explosion will have approximately the power of one of the 'Goa'uld Buster' weapons that were developed by your country for use against attacking Goa'uld motherships."

"I don't really know my nuclear weapons," Daniel admitted. "What does that mean, exactly?"

"The bombs dropped on Japan at the end of World War II each had a yield of under twenty kilotons," Amy told him, her voice flat and emotionless; almost numb with horror. Her hands continued to bandage the wounded attendant as she spoke, almost as a displacement activity. "The Goa'uld Buster has a yield of one thousand megatons. That's fifty thousand Hiroshimas," she added.

There was an awed silence. "Okay," Jack said. "How do we stop this from happening?"

"This…may in fact turn to our advantage," Nefera admitted, examining various readouts critically. "It should be just about possible, with the level of control still available, to slow and direct the descent. If we aim it just right, then the Ha'kal will hit the armoury. The impact and resulting blast will release heat intense enough to destroy the bresha, as well as most of the conspiracy's resources, but the impact will not be heavy enough to breach the reactor shields, and the naquadah in the core will not detonate. Furthermore, the shape of the mountains surrounding the base should contain the blast."

"So…problem solved?" Daniel asked, plainly not believing it.

"Not quite," Nefera confessed. "The ship's guidance systems were sufficiently damaged that I will have to remain and pilot the vessel manually."

"But you'll be killed!" Daniel exclaimed.

"But I will complete the task set me by my mistress," she returned, sadly. "I will align the transport rings to return you to the 747. You can use that to escape from the blast area."

"Works for me," Jack agreed, grimly.

Daniel frowned. "Jack! You can't let her kill herself."

"Oh; I think I can," Jack replied. "If she wants to do this, I won't be the one to stop her."

"Daniel," Nefera said, softly. "I've gone through too many masters in too short a time. Even if I lived, I do not think that I could start over with a new one."

"Then don't have any master," Daniel pleaded. "You can be your own person."

"No I can't," Nefera replied. "I wouldn't know where to begin. I know you can't understand that, but it's true."

Daniel was about to speak again, but Jack interrupted him. "Daniel," he said, softly but firmly. "Let it go. You can't save everyone."

Daniel deflated. "Amy…" he appealed.

Amy looked up from the bandage she was fixing. "I can't help you," she said. "He's my superior officer, and anyway, I agree with him." She stood, and laid a hand gently on his arm. "Give me a hand with these two," she suggested, gently, indicating Meretseger's attendants. "They're in shock and denial, and one of them's still bleeding more than I'd like, but we can help them."

*

Sam was consumed by thoughts of Joanne's sacrifice as she and Teal'c headed for the conference building. She had on several occasions faced death, and risked almost certain demise for the greater good, but this was different; Joanne wanted to die. Sam was not sure if the woman really believed that the dispersing event horizon would whisk her to another place, or whether that was merely a ruse to make Sam accept her plan, but it was clear that life simply no longer held any interest for Joanne, and that frightened Sam more than a legion of Jaffa.

Teal'c noticed Sam's discomfort. "You appear troubled, Major Carter."

"I'm alright," she insisted. "I just…I don't understand how someone could think death was a better choice than life."

"I do," Teal'c replied. Sam looked at the Jaffa, shocked.

"As you know; on several occasions, prior to my recruitment to SG-1," Teal'c continued. "I had questioned the rightness of my cause; of my beliefs. The thought that the Goa'uld whom I had served were not gods caused me great discomfort, for if they were but warring mortals, then for what reason had I killed so many of my own kind? For what reason had my father submitted to death?

At such times, I came to think death an easier path than life. I did not have it in me to lie down and die, but many times I wanted to. I sought death in battle, but it did not come."

"I had no idea," Sam admitted, feeling somewhat guilty.

"Do not feel bad for not seeing it in me," Teal'c told her. "I have not desired death since I was accepted as a part of SG-1, but I understand how Dr Freemont-Kingsley feels. I am saddened that she can find no way to carry on, but I believe that she has at least found a worthy way to end her life."

Sam looked at Teal'c, and shook her head in open amazement. "Every time I think I know everything there is to know about Teal'c, you go and surprise me again," she said.

 

Sam and Teal'c ascended the stairs from the basement and made their way to the commissary. They took out the guards at the kitchen door with zats, and made a quick head count before entering. Sure enough, about half of the soldiers from Keyes' detail were still there, along with Walters and Backley. There were four of Monroe's security personnel inside the room, and guards just outside the other three entrances.

Sam opted for a brazen approach. "Anyone not having fun here, please follow me, now!" She called, as she strode into the room. People began to look up, even as she zatted the first of the guards. Teal'c dropped another, a third was beaten around the head with a lunch tray, and the fourth was grabbed and dragged down.

Sam motioned Teal'c over to her. "Keep an eye out for where their weapons have gone," she cautioned. She pushed through the crowd to Walters and Backley. The senator was clearly terrified, but Backley looked more angry.

"How dare they keep me here like this?" Backley demanded of Sam. "Don't they know who I am?"

Sam ignored him. "Senator - or maybe I should say ex-senator Walters: Come with me," she instructed. Walters made little protest, but Backley sprang indignantly to his feet.

"You can't order us around!" He declaimed. "We're important people!"

"You were important," Sam hissed. "Now you're nobody, so shut up and come with us."

"I will not!" The billionaire retorted. "I'm in charge here."

"And what if I don't respect your authority?" Sam challenged, getting in Backley's face.

"Oh guar-ards!" Backley called, theatrically.

Sam hauled back and slugged Backley across the jaw. "Try anything like that again, and we'll leave you."

Backley muttered, but fell silent; unfortunately it was too late, and an alarm began to wail.

Sam looked up, then scowled at Backley. "Perfect."

"Major Carter," Teal'c warned her, standing near to the door which led back towards the basement. "There are soldiers approaching from this direction."

Sam cursed. "How many?"

"Many," Teal'c replied.

*

"Once you arrive, you had better jam the rings to make sure you can not be followed," Nefera told Jack. He stood with Daniel and Amy under the Ha'kal's transport rings. Amy and the uninjured attendant carried the wounded girl between them, and Jack was supporting Daniel, who was still woozy from his second ribbon blast of the day. Nefera was working the controls to the transport rings. "Just shove anything fairly robust underneath them; if they can't fully descend, then the matter stream can't reintegrate. Anyone trying to transport to the 747 will be bounced back to their starting point."

Jack nodded his understanding. "Now how long do we have until this ship hits, and how far away will we need to be?"

"If I bring the Ha'kal straight down, it should take about twenty-one minutes for it to hit ground; plus maybe five for me to get it under control in the first place. You will want to be at least three miles away by then, but in the jet that should not be a problem."

"I…I just want to say, I was wrong about you," Jack told her. "You're okay."

Nefera bowed. "Thank you, Colonel O'Neill."

"I'll second the sentiment," Amy added. "I may have misjudged you."

"No, Captain," Nefera assured her with a weak smile. "I am a bitch." She turned to Daniel, and kissed him gently on the cheek. "Goodbye, Daniel. Thank you for believing in me."

"You're welcome," Daniel replied, awkwardly.

With a look of pacific resignation, Nefera raised her hand to the control gem on the ring activator. "Farewell," she said, and pressed the gem. The ceiling hatch opened and the rings descended, spiriting them away in a burst of light.

For a long moment, Nefera stared at where they had been, but then her expression changed from one of resignation, to determination.

_*_

Colonel Monroe was scanning the boards in the base control room as Typhon and Henry entered.

"Colonel," Henry said, in his soft voice. "I'm certain that you have an explanation for these alarms."

"Ah…Yes, sir," Monroe assured him. "There appears to be some trouble in the conference centre, and also…"

"Yes?"

"We're being attacked, sir. From the outside. An unknown number of troops."

Henry sighed. "It does not matter how many they are," he assured the Colonel. "My Lord Typhon?" He asked, looking to the Goa'uld.

"Activate the shield," Typhon confirmed.

Henry stepped over to the control panel and threw a switch.

*

The NID troops, under the command of Lieutenant Colonel Steven Frost, had approached the base under the best cover available. They had managed to take out two of the forward guard towers before losing the element of surprise, and were now engaged in a long-range shoot out.

Two of Frost's marines manned a portable rocket launcher, and fired at another of the towers. At that moment, the air seemed to crystallise for a moment, and then the rocket impacted on an unseen wall. Ripples and cracks spread through the air, and the tower sat unharmed.

"Sir!" One of the soldiers called, directing Frost's attention to the high cliffs flanking the base. The sunlight flashed on something metal; something metal and moving.

"Fall back!" Frost ordered. At the same moment, an energy blast shot from the something on the cliff and struck with a whump among the troops. "Fall back!"

*

Leading the Air Force troops, Sam and Teal'c shot their way out of the commissary and into the corridors. They passed through a set of double doors and barricaded them as best they could, but it was clear that escape through the Asyut Complex was now impossible.

"We'll have to go out the front," Sam told Teal'c. "Maybe we can get to one of the trucks."

Fifty feet from the main door, Teal'c stopped, suddenly, tense and expectant. Sam felt the same thing he did.

"Jaffa," Teal'c announced, staring at the door in front of them. "Typhon has begun implanting his soldiers."

The rest of the group stopped, sensing their fear, but not sharing the certain knowledge that enemy soldiers waited immediately on the far side of the next door. "Teal'c; give me that RPG."

Teal'c handed the weapon over. Sam extended the tube and flipped up the sights. Behind her, the soldiers scattered out of the path of the back-blast.

"Ah…Major…?" Walters asked, uncertainly.

"Trust me," Sam replied. "I know what I'm doing."

She aimed the tube at the wall to the left of the door and fired. The rocket-propelled grenade blasted from the muzzle of the launcher, and slammed into the wall with an almighty, concussive blast. A cloud of dust flew up, completely obscuring the end of the corridor. Occasional shafts of sunlight cut through the dust.

"What the hell was that?" One of the soldiers asked.

"A twenty milligram secondary naquadah charge," Sam answered. "Move."

As the dust settled, a few of Typhon's new Jaffa stepped up to fight, but they had been caught off-guard by the blast, and Sam's impromptu command made it out of the building with relatively few losses.

"Leave the rifles," Sam ordered, as the soldiers grappled for weapons. Some obeyed, others took the M37-As anyway.

"Major Carter!" Teal'c warned. Sam saw them too; a large force of armed soldiers bearing down on them. Soon, the soldiers still in the building would emerge behind them. She looked around, desperately seeking a place to make a stand.

"There!" She ordered, pointing to a jeep standing at the side of the prison building.

The vehicle would provide cover, and the building blocked the view of the position from the guard towers. They lost two soldiers running over, but they made it and dug in as best they were able. The enemy took cover, facing them.

"We can not hold out for long," Teal'c warned.

"Hopefully we won't…Damnit!" Sam swore as a howitzer shell impacted harmlessly on the force wall surrounding the base, bringing it suddenly into view. "I guess we're not getting reinforcements anytime soon."

Great!" Backley snapped. "Well, you get yourselves killed." He leaped up, and before Sam or Teal'c could grab him, was running back towards the advancing enemy. "I surrender!" He called out.

Typhon stepped out from the line as Backley approached, and shot him dead.

"Oh God," Walters whispered. "We're going to die."

"…arter." A voice hissed, distorted by static. "Come in Carter."

"Maybe not," Sam told Walters. She reached for the radio at her belt. "Colonel," Sam answered, as bullets spattered off the jeep. Some of the soldiers were returning fire sporadically, but the M37-As had a tremendous rate of fire, and the security forces were doing a good job of suppressing the fugitives.

"Listen, Carter. You have…et to Key…47 now."

"Say again, Colonel."

"…eyes' 747," Jack repeated. "Get there. The base…to go boom."

"Roger that, sir," Sam replied, her eyes widening slightly. "Joanne," she said. "Are you there."

"Loud and clear, Major," the other woman's voice responded.

"Do it, Joanne," Sam said. "We need it now."

"You got it," Joanne replied. "Godspeed, Sam."

"Good luck," Sam replied, knowing it was a hollow platitude, but feeling the need to say it anyway.

*

Joanne set down the radio, and moved her hand to the start button. She paused for a moment and regarded it. Typically for her father, it was big and green, and sat next to the big red module launch control, like something from a Bond movie rather than a military base. She blinked away the tears that were forming in her eyes, and pressed the button.

Behind her, the Wepwawet Gate thundered into life.

*

Nefera strode confidently into the Ha'kal's control room and stood at the peltac. Smoke poured into her eyes, and after a moment of working through it, she reached underneath the console, seized the smoke canister and tossed it aside. A quick touch of the controls silenced the alarms.

Her hands flew confidently and expertly over the surface of the console, as she set the automated guidance systems. That done, she smiled contentedly, and headed back to the transport ring chamber.

*

Jack finished jamming the last of a stack of parachutes under the transport rings, and turned to his troops.

Well; Daniel and Amy.

"Kawalsky; secure the cabins. Make sure we've got no company."

"Sir," Amy saluted smartly.

"Daniel; get the lounge and get our new friends here settled in." He indicated the attendants. "Zat 'em if they give you any trouble."

Daniel nodded, and began speaking to the two women in the Goa'uld language.

"Oh, and Kawalsky…" Jack began, but the young Captain was already slinging her submachine gun out of firing position. A 9mm handgun might not be enough to put a hole in a 747, but the P-90 might. As low as they would be flying, the cabin pressure was unlikely to become a problem, but an aircraft as sophisticated as this one might be antsy about taking off with a damaged fuselage. Besides, with the penetrating power of the P-90's SS190 ball round, there was no telling what a stray shot might hit, and there was too much sensitive equipment in the plane, too little of which Jack understood. The last thing he needed was for the 747 to go the way of the Ha'kal.

The three of them spread out through the plane, Jack checking the cockpit before circling back to the lounge. It was a risk, having each of them alone, but it was the fastest way to secure the plane, and time was very much of the essence. He checked his watch: nineteen minutes until the Ha'kal's impact, by Nefera's calculations.

"Come on, Carter," he muttered to himself. He was broken from his reverie by a woman's scream, coming from the direction of the lounge.

With a curse, Jack ran back through the plane. Amy emerged from a cabin ahead of him, and they burst into the lounge almost side-by-side.

"Carlson?" Amy asked, surprised. Her former rival in the service of General Keyes stood before them. Meretseger's attendants huddled in fear on one of the couches, and Carlson held the injured Daniel in an arm lock, with a knife to his throat.

"I can't leave you alone for five minutes," Jack accused Daniel, trying to wrongfoot the Lieutenant.

Daniel seemed to take umbrage. "Hey! Injured man here," he protested. "What was I supposed to do? Be more forcefully hurt at him?"

"Stop that!" Carlson ordered. "There will be no mind games here."

"Who's playing mind games?" Daniel asked. "We're always this way."

Carlson pressed the knife tighter against Daniel's throat. "I. Said. Stop," he repeated, deadly calm. "Captain; Colonel. Put your weapons down. All of them."

"You know," Jack told him. "Military protocol requires that when issuing demands to superior officers in a hostage situation, you start with the most senior."

"Age before beauty," Amy agreed.

"Now," Carlson hissed. Blood began to pool on the edge of the knife blade.

*

The Asyut Complex began to shake as the naquadah took what it was given and amplified the energy a hundredfold. With a fierce crackling sound, and a smell of ozone, the emitters came to life, and a vortex expanded from the centre of the ring to fill the Gate. The event horizon was a deep sapphire blue, and so beautiful it took Joanne's breath away. She had never before seen an active Stargate, and the sight left her in awe. She knew that in dying now, her one true regret would be that she had never stepped through that horizon; never travelled a wormhole.

With a heavy heart, she turned and hit the launch button.

Nothing happened.

*

The jeep shuddered under the sheer weight of fire, and slumped sideways as another tire blew out.

"Come on, Joanne," Sam muttered, feeling a momentary pang of guilt that she was willing a woman to her death.

*

Amy looked to Jack, conflict writ large on her face. Jack knew how much she cared about Daniel, and how much it hurt her to be powerless to help him now. He also knew that she knew - as did he - that many other people were relying on them to be ready. He looked into Daniel's face, saw there the willingness to die; the quiet courage that had raised him in Jack's estimation from just another geek to a trusted friend. He could zat them both, but the way they were standing, even by merely falling away, Carlson might open Daniel's artery.

Daniel nodded, telling Jack to do what he had to do.

Reluctantly, Jack turned to Amy and nodded, and they crouched, setting their weapons on the floor.

*

Joanne jammed her finger over and over onto the launch button, with still no effect.

"Don't do this to me!" She pleaded with the mechanism, but to no avail. She had heard the panic on the edge of Major Carter's voice; knew she had but moments to act, and here she was, thwarted by a machine.

She turned, and looked back at the event horizon, hanging placid and unaffected, mocking her, and the suffering above her.

But no, she realised. Not mocking her; beckoning.

In a moment, she realised what she had to do. With a final look around at the world she had lived her life in, she gave a broad, genuine smile.

"I'm coming, Daddy," she whispered. Then she ran up the launch rail, and hurled herself into the event horizon. The world fractured around her as the wormhole currents seized hold of her, and in the Wepwawet chamber, the event horizon blushed with a brazen hue, and then exploded in a shower of gold.

*

The ground began to shake under Typhon's feet, and the Goa'uld looked at Henry, angrily.

"What is happening, Kalica?" He demanded.

"I…I do not know," Henry replied, for the first time uncertain.

Then, with a brief crackle, the force wall died.

*

"What happened?" Frost wondered aloud. "Is that thing gone now?" He and his surviving men, battered and bloodied, were huddled just out of range of the energy weapon towers on the cliffs.

One of his remaining officers, a sharp-witted Lieutenant, turned and ordered the mortar to fire a single round at the large hangar. Watching through his field glasses, Frost saw a gout of flame erupt from the side of the building.

"Yeah!" He cried, for a moment quite forgetting the decorum of rank. "And we're back in the game." He turned to the Lieutenant. "Give fire!"

*

"We move; now!" Sam ordered. The soldiers were reluctant however.

"They're still out there," one protested. "We'll be shot to pieces."

Sam raised an eyebrow. "Oh yeah?"

Nodding to Teal'c to cover her, Sam stood up, walked around the side of the jeep and began moving towards the enemy with Teal'c at her side. The soldiers cowered, expecting the sound of the two of them being cut to bloody ribbons to fall on their ears any second.

It did not come.

Slowly, they began to peek out, and saw Sam and Teal'c advancing on the enemy line. Sam raised her zat and fired into the nearest soldier. Teal'c did the same, and soldier after soldier fell, desperately attempting to return fire with weapons that refused to function. Perhaps catching on faster than his men, Monroe leaped at Sam with knife drawn, taking a blast each, from her and from Teal'c for his troubles.

The security force wavered, broke and ran.

With an almost religious awe, the airmen rose and followed.

*

The lounge of the 747 suddenly lit up with flashing red lights, as warning systems detected the EMP and made an internal shift to DEFCON 1. Carlson looked startled, and Daniel seized the opportunity to push the Lieutenant's knife hand away from his throat and drive an elbow into Carlson's ribs. As Daniel stumbled clear and collapsed, Carlson started to draw a zat from his hip, and Jack lunged for his own weapons.

Even as he did so, Amy was pelting down the aisle, leaping past Daniel, and into Carlson.

She attacked without real strategy, driving a flurry of furious punches to his unprotected face. He was momentarily stunned, and Amy was able to regroup from her initial rush before the knife thrust hard at her side. The blade cut into her, but she grabbed Carlson's wrist and pushed it away before it could go in deep.

Outside the 747, mortar shells began to fall on the base. One came close, and the plane rocked, rolling Amy and Carlson over. Amy ended up underneath Carlson, struggling to keep the knife pointed away from her as he pressed down.

Jack raised the zat, wondering if it would be safe to blast the pair of them, but before he made up his mind, one of Meretseger's attendants struck Carlson hard over the head with the half-empty bottle of bourbon. He fell heavily across Amy.

After a worrying moment, Amy began pushing at Carlson, and Daniel helped her to free herself. The knife had driven into Carlson's torso, and he was quite definitely dead.

"You're hurt," Daniel said, gently probing the cut in her hip.

"Could be worse," Amy assured him. "Thanks…" She looked at the attendant, and realised that she did not know her name.

"Bonniwae, Kuhn'dre," Daniel said. The girl smiled, evidently pleased with herself.

"That's sweet," Jack said, as another mortar blast rocked the plane. "But I'd better go tell the marines that we're on this plane. You two keep an eye out for Carter and cover her if she needs it. When she gets here, send her up to the cockpit."

*

When the woman and the Jaffa had advanced, decimating his men, who had seemed unable to fire back, Typhon had done the only thing a God could do: he ran. Now he and Henry sheltered in the control building, while mortar shells rained from the sky.

"Why can not the energy weapons kill them?" Typhon demanded.

"I do not know," Henry replied, for the third time. "Our communications are out; I can not gain a report on their status. However, if the base power facilities are offline, then even if the weapons themselves can still fire, the platforms will not move to allow the gunners to aim them."

"They are running for Keyes' plane," Typhon realised, sneaking a look from the window. "Our plane. Send men to the armoury; bring rockets."

"Yes, Lord Typhon," Henry replied, wearily.

*

In the large hangar, the transport rings burst into life, and Nefera stepped out, dressed in a black, security force uniform and carrying a staff weapon in one hand, and her hold-all in the other.

*

"Welcome aboard flight SG-1, calling at somewhere very far away," Daniel greeted Sam as she reached the top of the stairs. "Jack needs you in the cockpit."

"Great," Sam replied, relieved. "Anything to get away from my fans."

"Fans?"

Sam nodded towards the soldiers following her in. "They seem to think Teal'c and I are the second coming just because we walked out in front of Typhon's men and they couldn't shoot us."

"I can see how they might," Daniel admitted.

"It was indeed a most impressive action," Teal'c agreed.

Sam shrugged. "They were all using the M37-As," she explained. "It fires a caseless cartridge."

Daniel looked clueless.

"The M37-A's caseless round is fired by passing an electronic pulse through the propellant," Sam added. "The kind of mechanism that gets fritzed by an EMP," she said, as though that should have been obvious from the start. "Why did you think I told you not to take them?"

Daniel still looked blank. "Did I mention I was badly hurt?" He offered in excuse.

Sam looked to Teal'c, who raised an eyebrow. "I trusted in you, Major Carter," he said. "I did not know that the enemy's weapons would not fire."

"Major Carter?" Amy asked, from where she was guiding the soldiers, and the overwrought Walters, to seats in the rear of the 747. "Where's JF?"

Sam's look answered Amy's question well enough; she could see that in the way the younger officer's face fell. "I'm sorry," she said. "She didn't…"

"Dr Freemont-Kingsley died a valiant death, to save the lives of her comrades," Teal'c interjected. "She asked us to speak well of her to you, and to thank you for your friendship."

That was not quite how Sam remembered it, but it pretty much fit. "I…I'd better get to the cockpit," she said. "Teal'c; shove off the stairs and close the hatch. Daniel…Sit down will you; you look about ready to pass out."

Daniel smiled weakly, and Sam moved up the plane to the cockpit.

"Well," Jack told her. "The marines seem prepared to believe we're who I say we are. They're falling back now, and they are not going to shell us anymore."

"That's nice of them," Carter said, slipping into the co-pilot's seat. "You wanted to see me, Colonel?"

"Yes, Carter. I did. Have you ever flown a commercial airliner?"

"No, sir."

Jack nodded, satisfied. "Me neither. Never mind; we'll just have to do it together. I mean, how much different can it be than flying an F-16?"

Sam looked across the console. "Do you even know what most of these dials mean?" She asked.

"Not a clue," Jack admitted. "You think that'll be a problem?"

"It could be."

"Well, we need to get three miles in…six minutes," Jack told her, checking his watch. "So I figure we just have to try and wing it."

*

A muffled roar boomed out from the armoury, followed by a series of cracks and bangs as ammunition fired off. After a moment, smoke poured from the doors.

"Henry!" Typhon demanded. "What treachery is this?"

"The Tau'ri must have mined the armoury," the Kalica realised. "We knew that they were dangerous, but I fear we have underestimated them."

"They must die for their defiance," Typhon snarled. "The fighters…"

"The hangar is too badly damaged," Henry insisted. "We could never open the main doors to launch the fighters."

"My Lord Typhon!"

The Goa'uld turned as Nefera ran to him out of the smoke. "Nefera?"

"Quickly, my Lord," the woman said. "The transport rings in the hangar. You must escape to Meretseger's ship."

"Yes!" Typhon said. "Of course. We shall go. Henry, you shall come with us."

"As you say, my Lord," Henry agreed.

*

"How's it going back here?" Daniel asked, finding his way into the compartment where Amy and Teal'c were securing the wounded soldiers. He still looked shaky, but better than those who had suffered gunshot wounds.

"Not so good," she admitted. "Lend a hand?"

"I've not got much medical training," he reminded her. "Just a little first aid."

Amy gingerly patted her hip, where Daniel had put a temporary dressing over her wound. "It'll do." She motioned to Teal'c, who tossed Daniel a roll of bandage.

"Just try to stop them bleeding," Amy added. "That's all we can do for now."

 

In the cockpit, Jack and Sam were struggling with the manifold controls of the 747. They had managed to taxi to the end of the runway, and were trying to work out the flaps and elevators.

"What did that one do?" Jack asked.

Sam shrugged. "There's a computer screen here that says 'laser defence active', but I'm not sure if that's new."

"Would it kill them to label things?" Jack asked. "Okay; if that was the laser defences, then these are the flaps; this is the elevators, and we're good to go."

"Are you sure?"

"Three minutes," Jack reminded her.

"Sure enough," Sam agreed.

*

"Quickly," Nefera urged, standing at the hangar door. The roof was half fallen in, and the fighters lay on their sides. At least the shelling appeared to have stopped. "There are soldiers coming," she added. "I shall protect your retreat, Lord Typhon, and follow if I may."

"Excellent, Nefera," Typhon agreed. He and Henry hurried to stand beneath the scaffold. "You shall be remembered."

The rings fell, the light shone, and they were gone. Nefera levelled her staff weapon and blasted the scaffold. The beams twisted and slumped, knocking the rings out of alignment.

She grabbed her bag from by the door and walked out of the hangar.

 

Typhon and Henry materialised on the Ha'kal.

"Should it be so hot," Henry asked, nervously.

"No," Typhon replied, already striding towards the peltac. The door opened before him and he froze in horror, silhouetted by a fiery light.

"What is it?" Henry demanded, pushing past.

What he saw frightened Henry as he had never been frightened before. The forward screen was completely obscured by flames as the outer layers of the Ha'kal's skin caught fire in the Earth's atmosphere. The control consoles had been destroyed by five deliberate, well-placed blasts from a staff weapon.

"Nefera!" Typhon roared, and turned to run back to the transport room. Henry just stayed where he was, staring at the flames, and began to laugh, bitterly.

 

On the ground, Nefera climbed into a neglected jeep and drove as fast as she was able towards the front gate. The gate itself had been destroyed by the marines, so she wove around it and kept driving. She glanced back, and saw the 747 speeding down the runway towards her.

*

The 747 shot down the runway, engines on full throttle. Jack was aware that they had barely enough runway to take off with an experienced pilot, but there was not much else in the way of options.

"Colonel," Sam called in warning.

"I see it," Jack replied, eyes fixed on the fence, mere yards from the end of the runway.

"Not that," Sam replied. Jack looked up, and saw the flaming mass plunging out of the sky towards them.

"Oh. That."

"Fence!" Sam shouted, dragging Jack's attention back to the runway. He hauled back on the control column, Sam adding her efforts to his, although with fly-by-wire controls, the extra effect was nominal. With the engines screaming their intense dissatisfaction, the jumbo jet slowly lifted into the air, as the fence drew rapidly closer. A puff of smoke announced a rocket launched from a surviving guard tower.

"Ah hell," Jack muttered. Moments later, the rocket detonated harmlessly in mid-air, and a moment after that, the guard tower went up in a burst of flame, and the 747's mighty landing gear cleared the top of the fence by inches.

"'Incoming projectile detected. Laser defence fired. Threat neutralised'." Sam reported, reading from the panels.

"Guess the guy wasn't kidding about the countermeasures," Jack allowed.

*

Typhon ran back into the peltac and grabbed Henry's shoulders. "Do something!" He demanded. "Stop that infernal laughing at least." By now, tears streamed down the Kalica's cheeks, and his whole body shook with desperate, hysterical sobs of bleak mirth.

"It is too late," he managed to say. "They've won. They shall set the sky on fire!"

 

The Ha'kal ploughed into the armoury at just under Mach 1. From a small outcrop, a few hundred yards from the Marine fall-back position, Nefera watched as it struck, then averted her eyes as the blinding fireball filled the cleft between the great buttresses of rock. Even three miles away, she could feel the heat on her skin.

She finished changing out of the black combat fatigues, into jeans and a t-shirt, then hopped back down to the jeep. She had one more thing to take care of.

*

The 747 touched down on the nearest airfield that was anywhere near large enough. It was only after they landed that SG-1 learned that they were in Utah.

"Anyone feels like thanking God for their salvation," Sam told the soldiers of Keyes' bodyguard detail. "The Church of Latter Day Saints is recruiting over yonder."

"Yonder?" Jack asked.

"Is that not right for Utah?"

Jack shrugged. "Not much fishing in Utah," he told her.

The backup from Hammond had arrived in time to oversee the arrest of Senator Stephanie Walters for treason. She made no fuss, and no attempt to refute the charges. Lieutenant Colonel Frost was less than happy at the SGC taking charge, but bowed to superior authority and went back to secure the base. As a co-conspirator, Amy Kawalsky was also arrested, but left in SG-1's custody to be returned to Cheyenne Mountain.

Amy picked idly at the edges of her Captain's bars. "So, am I going to have to give these back?" She asked. She was sitting on an airport terminal bench opposite Jack and Sam.

"You earned them, didn't you?" Sam asked.

"Well, kinda," she allowed. "But I always felt I only really got them because Keyes wanted to jump my bones."

"Putting up with him the last six months," Jack said. "I'd say you've earned them."

Amy smiled, pleased, and also very relieved. Jack knew that her family had disapproved of her association with Keyes - she had been forced to very harshly and publicly denounce her Catholic upbringing to get in with the Southern Protestant General - and was looking forward to explaining herself, as best she could without talking about the SGC. Having something to show for what she had put them through was important to her.

"Where's Teal'c?" Sam asked.

"Checking up on Daniel," Amy answered. "I think they're headed over here now."

Sure enough, Daniel hobbled up a few moments later, dogged by Teal'c, who was displaying his characteristic over-protectiveness of his injured team-mates by radiating disapproval that Daniel was even walking in his condition.

"How you feeling, Daniel?" Jack asked.

"Like I've suffered extensive internal bruising," Daniel replied. "But I'm going to be fine, so the paramedics tell me."

"They said that you would be fine so long as you did not exert yourself," Teal'c corrected.

Amy scooted over on her bench. "Have a seat," she invited. Daniel smiled and sat beside her; Teal'c remained standing.

Daniel frowned slightly, and Jack gave him an inquiring look. "What's on your mind, Daniel?"

"Nothing," he said.

Jack fixed him with a needle-glare until he started to squirm.

"Okay," he admitted. "It's something that Kuhn'dre said."

"Who?" Jack asked.

"The girl who saved my life," Amy reminded him. "Meretseger's attendant."

"Well, I asked her why she'd done that," Daniel went on. "I mean, half the time when we 'rescue' people from the Goa'uld's captivity they swear at us and get all upset."

"So what did she say?" Sam asked.

"She said that she and Amun'sa were told to go with us, and to co-operate fully, and that we - or I think specifically that I - would look after them and see they came to no harm."

"Told by whom?" Teal'c asked, immediately suspicious.

"By 'the goddess'," Daniel answered.

*

A charred and broken figure stumbled from the ruin of the base. It was blackened and twisted, and the skeleton exposed beneath the seared remains of its flesh looked not quite human; a conclusion supported by the fact that it had clearly just survived the impact of the Ha'kal.

"You are a persistent bastard, aren't you?"

The figure looked up, and saw Nefera looking down on it. "Curse you," it rattled. "Do you have any idea what you have done?" That such a figure could be moving - let alone talking - more than justified Nefera's comment.

The young woman raised a staff weapon and shot the figure in the shoulder. It barely flinched. "Ah yes; you do not fear Goa'uld technology, do you?" She asked, rhetorically. "But I know now what you do fear."

The burned thing lunged for Nefera, but she dropped the staff and raised her left hand, revealing the hara-kash that had been hidden in her palm. The energy beam shot forth, and the thing staggered but did not fall.

"That will do no more than slow me down," it hissed, forging on towards her.

"I know, Mr Henry," she assured him. "I've been studying you for long enough. But that is all I need. You see, I know you are nearly spent; you'll recover in time, but I won't give you time, and I know what you are afraid of now." So saying, she brandished an M-72 flamethrower in her right hand. Henry turned from her, and tried to flee, but she brought up the weapon and shot a gout of flame over the Kalica.

Henry screamed and fell. "They will kill you all," he croaked. "Kill everyone."

"Maybe," Nefera allowed, and blasted him again. Her face was flat, emotionless.

"Why?" He demanded, his voice weaker. "Why do you fight for them?"

"I don't," she replied. "Know this, Henry," she added, in a voice filled with pride and power. The Kalica looked up into the eyes of the Goa'uld standing over him. "I have never failed, and I have never given up." Then the barrel of the flamethrower rose once more, in the hands of Mafdet, Ashrak formerly in the service of Amaunet, and Henry knew no more.

 

As she was detouring around the marine encampment, Mafdet mused over her future, stranded on this world where she had lived the last year and more. She would need a new name, that was for certain, but then what? What could she do? Who here could she serve?

"Be your own woman," she said, softly, mulling over Daniel Jackson's suggestion. "I like the sound of that."

 

**Author's Note:**

> The M37-A is an entirely made-up weapon, loosely based on the M41A pulse rifle from the film Aliens. In this fic, the weapons were originally Heckler & Koch G-11 caseless rifles, which are real, but as it turns out, don't work the way I thought they do.


End file.
